


hold on (never letting go)

by quasiquasar



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Blood and Injury, Bonding, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Childhood Friends, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Prostitution, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Omega Bucky Barnes, Physical Abuse, Pole Dancing, Prostitution, Protective Steve Rogers, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Stripping, Top Steve Rogers, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quasiquasar/pseuds/quasiquasar
Summary: Steve thought Bucky would always be there for him.When he thinks Bucky abandoned him, he's heartbroken.But, not as much as when he finds out the truth behind Bucky's disappearance.The question is, can they still be together after everything that's happened?No matter what, even if Bucky feels like he can't hold on, Steve isn't letting go.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 19
Kudos: 115





	1. Where's Bucky?

Steve arrives in his old hometown before noon on a Friday. He hasn’t been back here in a couple of years, which feels like a lifetime despite the fact that the sleepy town has remained virtually unchanged. Everything is exactly as he remembers it, and it floods him with nostalgia.

The first thing he does, after visiting his parents’ graves, is head back to the old apartment that he and Bucky used to share. It too looks the same as in his memories… No, actually, the curtains in the window are different, and the potted plants Bucky used to keep on the front stairs are absent.

Steve’s heart is pounding painfully as he approaches the front door. He almost feels nauseous, stomach turning with both excitement and dread.

Bucky had stopped replying to his letters not long after Steve had moved out. Steve hadn’t been too concerned at first, thinking Buck was just too busy to write a reply. But, as days turned to weeks and all the letters Steve followed up with remained unacknowledged, Steve stopped expecting a response. He made up so many excuses for Bucky, but he wasn’t sure what to believe. It hurt, that Bucky didn’t care enough to keep in contact with him. What happened to the end of the line?

Steve had sent one last letter and was shocked when he later found a postcard in his mailbox. Smudged across the back in Bucky’s messy script were the words “Thanks for everything Steve. Please stop contacting me. I’m sorry.”

Steve hadn’t stopped. He’d been appalled that after so many years of friendship, of more, that Bucky would… had Steve been dumped? For days afterwards, Steve had sunk into a depressed slump, writing to Bucky, trying to call. Nothing. No answer. No sign of life. Was Steve not worth an explanation?

Something had to be wrong. But as time passed, Steve’s desperation had burned into anger. How could Bucky do this? Had he ever cared about Steve?

Of course he had. The love in his eyes, his smile, would have been impossible to fake.

Maybe this was why people said long distance relationships were doomed to fail.

Steve’s thoughts raced for weeks, emotions volatile, but ultimately Peggy had forced him to stop sulking and move on with his life. Here he was, in one of the most prestigious universities in the world, already working in his field thanks to an amazing internship opportunity. He tried not to think about Bucky.

It was hard. Even so, the time passed. Steve received his degree, and with his first paid vacation he decided enough was enough. He needed closure.

He missed his best friend. His lover.

He also hated him a little bit.

These memories swirled in his head as he tentatively knocked at his old apartment.

The back of his neck prickled as the door opened.

“May I help you?” A crow-eyed old woman smiled at him.

Steve stammered. “I-Is Bucky home?”

“Bucky?” The woman asks. “My, he hasn’t been here since I rented this place. He actually helped me move in, bless his heart. No, sadly we haven’t kept in touch. Sweet boy, that one.”

Steve thanked her and left, the world shaky. That explains why none of his letters had seemed to get through. Why hadn’t Bucky told Steve? Why hadn’t he said anything?

The pit grew ever heavier in his gut.

He had to find Bucky. A conversation was long overdue. Just because he’d left the apartment doesn’t mean he’d left town. Steve still had a chance. Two chances.

The docks, and Bucky’s parents’ place.

It’s daytime on a Friday, and Steve realizes his mistake. Buck wouldn’t have been home anyway, not if his schedule was the same.

The docks were a small shipping company that operated near the beach. Steve remembers how tanned Bucky would be after a few days on the job. He doesn’t see him here now, among the hustle and bustle of men walking by, carrying large loads and shouting directions.

Steve spots the manager, designated by his bright security jacket. However, when he asks for Bucky, the man gives him a look of confusion.

“Ain’t no one named Bucky here, sir.”

“What about James? Barnes?”

“No sir, I know all my men, and there’s no Barnes among ‘em.”

“How long have you been working here?” Steve asks, brow furrowed. Of course, he couldn’t expect Bucky to stay at the same physically demanding job for years, just as he couldn’t expect him not to move from the apartment. Still, none of this sat right with him.

“’Bout two years now, a little more. Now I gotta get back.”

“Thanks for your time.” Steve wanders away, dejected. Bucky’s not here but he still scrutinizes the group, looking for his friend’s familiar figure.

Nothing.

The Barnes’ family residence it is. And if Bucky’s not there, they’d surely know where he’s gone.

Steve is starting to feel frantic as he arrives at the home where he spent so many lazy childhood days.

The wait after he knocks feels like an eternity.

“Steve Rogers? I can’t believe my eyes!” Winifred Barnes’ overjoyed smile is so similar to Bucky’s, it steals Steve’s breath away. What she says next makes him choke.

“Is Bucky with you?”

Cold nerves shoot down his back.

“He’s not here?”

The heartbreak is visible in Win’s eyes.

“I thought he’d go to you…”

“What? What are you talking about? When?” He finds it difficult to hold back the desperation in his voice.

“Who is it?” A loud, slurred voice calls from inside the house. Win’s lip trembles as she turns and answers him.

“Well let the man in!”

The house looks just as Steve remembers, but something feels out of place… with a start, he realizes Bucky isn’t in any of the family photos adorning the walls and cabinets. Not even one, though there are a multitude of his parents, sisters, and of more distant relatives.

George Barnes is settled deep into a recliner, nearly empty beer in hand. Steve glances at the clock; 2:30 in the afternoon. George hauls himself up, staggering slightly as he stands, and tightly clasps Steve’s shoulder.

“Steve, my boy! It’s been ages. You’ve sure grown. Look at these shoulders, these arms! You’d make your parents proud, strong Alpha you’ve become. Y’know, I didn’t believe it when I heard you presented. I thought for sure you’d be an Omega bitch. Just my luck, instead of you, my useless son turns out to be the fairy. Didn’t see that coming.” George’s amicable tone darkens with disgust and he swigs from his beer.

“Excuse me?” Steve can’t process what he’s hearing. “What did you just say?”

“You didn’t know?” George guffaws. “You still think that pansy’s a Beta? Can’t blame him for hiding it, but damn. It’s been years now. God, wish I could forget, what a fucking disgrace…”

Steve’s mind is short circuiting. Bucky, Omega?

“Where is he.” Steve is all tension, tone tight.

“Kicked him right out after his first heat. Didn’t want none of that sissy shit in my house. Haven’t heard from him since, good goddamn riddance.” George growls. Steve sees red.

Before he knows what he’s doing, Steve winds up and punches George straight in the face. He stumbles backwards, beer bottle shattering on the ground.

“You better get out of my fucking house RIGHT FUCKING NOW.” George bites out darkly, holding his gushing nose.

“I can’t believe you’d abandon Bucky, your own son, for this.” Steve glares.

“He’s no son of mine!” George thunders, and before Steve can do any more damage, Win is quietly pulling him to the door.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m sorry. Please don’t think too badly of us.”

“How could you let this happen?”

Her eyes close, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Goodbye Steve. Please, if you find him… please, tell Bucky I love him… tell him he’s missed…”

Steve swallows his rage. Jaw tight, he leaves without another word, nearly slamming the door behind him.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t think.

Is his heart pounding too fast? Has it stopped? He can’t tell.

Bucky is gone. He’s out there, somewhere, alone. He’s missing. He could be dead.

Bucky is an Omega.

Bucky presented as Omega, and Steve didn’t know. He wasn’t there for him. For his mate!

He must have been so scared…

With George as a father, so ashamed…

With anguish Steve roars, punching a stop sign so hard it dents deeply. The pounding in his reddened knuckles grounds him.

He needs to find Bucky.

…

He doesn’t know where to start. He’s wandering aimlessly, eyes glazed.

Unlike the large city Steve has been living in, this small town doesn’t have any Omega support clinics. Though Buck had been popular, he hadn’t had any truly close friends other than Steve. Where could he have gone?

With a chill Steve realized Bucky might even have left town. Would there be any way to track him down? Someone had to know something! Surely Bucky couldn’t have just dropped out of existence without anyone noticing, without anyone caring?

Steve remembers how angry he’d been at Bucky, back when he’d stopped receiving letters.

He wishes Bucky had told him. He should have known Steve would never, ever judge him, could never reject him. They’d promised to be together through anything, everything.

Had Bucky doubted Steve?

Steve knows it’s more likely Bucky had doubted himself.

He halts in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes unseeing, still in shock.

“Watch it, fuck!” an angry shout startles him out of his head and a dark-haired Alpha checks his shoulder roughly.

“Rumlow?” Steve recognizes the man immediately.

“Holy shit, Rogers? What the fuck!”

They’d never been friends. Not even close. They’d clashed since the moment they’d met, and things had only gotten worse from there. Rumlow and his crew against Bucky and Steve… and the rest of the school, really; Rumlow was a known bully. He’d gotten even worse after Steve had presented, his hatred palpable as Steve outgrew him.

A sly smirk twists Rumlow’s face. “You’re here for Bucky, aren’t you? Oh, this is just too good.”

Steve’s stomach rises to his throat before dropping. “What do you know?”

His smirk grows impossibly wider. “I know everything.” He whispers, voice cold and husky.

The floor seems to disappear under Steve’s feet. He grabs the front of Rumlow’s shirt.

“Tell me.”

“Woah there, freak.” Rumlow pushes himself out of Steve’s grip, scowling. He arranges himself and then laughs, mocking grin back.

“I can show you. Tonight. 9:00, at this address. I’ll meet you there.”

Rumlow scribbles the address on a crumpled receipt, flicking it at Steve who manages to catch it.

Steve clenches the paper. “Tell me now!”

“Oh no, you’re gonna wanna see this. You’ll love it.” Rumlow chuckles, dark, nearly maniacal.

Steve is about to grab him again, but the man is already sauntering away, looking every bit the snake Steve knows him to be.

Is he lying?

There’s only one way to find out. Steve unfurls the receipt.

9:00 cannot come faster.


	2. HYDRA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow won't reveal anything unless Steve plays along with his sick game.

It’s a strip club.

Rumlow is already waiting outside the garish establishment, located on the outskirts of town. Gaudy neon lights shaped into lewd forms flicker and buzz. Steve barely glances at the place, only just catching the name “HYDRA” glowing in large letters above the door. He stalks straight towards Rumlow, who takes a deep drag from a cigarette stub. He flicks it away as Steve stops in front of him.

“Where’s Bucky?”

“Straight to the point, eh, Cap?” Rumlow sneers out Steve’s old high school nickname.

“It’s the only reason I’m here.” Steve confirms. “Or did you think I’d want to spend time with you of all people at this kind of place just for fun?”

“Oh, it’s going to be fun alright. Follow me, and you’ll find the answers to all your questions. First thing’s first, we’re going to sit down, have a nice drink, and enjoy the show. Afterwards, I’ll tell you what you want to know. I can even show you.”

The uneasy feeling that has been festering all day is stronger now than ever. Steve is practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Can’t we talk now?”

“No, and I have one condition for all this. You don’t ask anymore questions until after the show, okay? You’ll only distract both of us, and believe me, this is a performance you’re going to love.”

Steve doubts it. He can’t enjoy anything until he knows Bucky is safe. All day, horror stories have been flitting through his mind, each new one worse than the last.

Still, Rumlow is the only lead he has. He nods in strained agreement and follows Rumlow inside.

The smell hits him first. Sweat, booze, and sex. He almost gags on it, with how thick it hovers in the air. Steve has never been one for the nightlife, barely even frequenting bars with his peers and colleagues. The atmosphere is like another world, sensual music blocking up his ears. Every sense is being overwhelmed. He feels dirty, just standing in the entrance.

“Well, c’mon now Cap, lets get some good seats.” Rumlow leads them deeper inside.

The lights are dim, making it hard to see anything except for the spotlights trained on the stage. It’s impossible to distinguish the faces of the men lining the tables and booths, relentlessly gazing up at the scantily clad dancers on the smaller stages. The larger center stage is empty, save for three poles.

Rumlow orders a pitcher of whiskey and coke and two glasses, leading Steve to a spot in front of the big stage. Others are already there, so Steve assumes it won’t be long now before the show begins. He accepts the drink Rumlow offers him after a hesitant moment of debate. Ultimately, if Steve needs to sit through this, he doesn’t mind a bit of liquid courage.

The lights at the side stages dim, and now all eyes are trained eagerly at the center. Rumlow sends a knowing smirk Steve’s way. Can the man even smile? It seems he has two expressions: sneers or scowls.

The music changes, the beat growing more intense. The lights turn red, and the air grows heavier with arousal. Steve almost gags in disgust.

A slim figure slithers through the back curtains, and the crowd leers. Beside him, Rumlow whoops. “He’s the best this place has to offer. They call him the Winter Soldier. Enjoy.” Rumlow whispers before leaning forward, throwing a bill onto the stage.

Steve understands immediately why this dancer is called the Soldier. Despite his thin build, he has a strong presence, accentuated by thick straps of black leather encasing his torso and thighs. His hair is long, brushing his shoulders. An officer’s cap sits tilted on his head. He moves with a fluid grace that has Steve starring, unable to look away.

He’s hypnotized. The man looks out, unseeing, at the crowd. A black mask gags his jaw, and his gray eyes are smudged with dark eyeliner. There are manacles around his wrists and ankles.

The crowd is at rapt attention as the Soldier begins his dance, his body rippling and twisting slowly, smoothly. He speeds up and slows down, teasing the crowd, and Steve tells himself the erection straining his pants is a normal biological reaction. Regardless, his breath is stolen when the Soldier almost playfully removes his hat, eyes sultry, and tosses it carelessly into the audience.

Without thinking, Steve’s arm shoots up and catches the hat. Rumlow laughs, takes it from him and puts it on Steve’s head, before leaning forward, waving a wad.

The Soldier notices, saunters closer, stands above them, hips gyrating, hands pulling at the straps binding him. Steve sees he’s wearing a collar. It looks dangerous and sexy, but at the same time, Steve realizes that the Soldier looks more like a prisoner than a warrior, bound as he is.

Rumlow shoves the money into one of the straps, smirking as the Soldier bends, displaying his perfectly round ass. Rumlow gives the Soldier’s thigh a squeeze. Weren’t patrons not supposed to touch the dancers in places like this?

The Soldier doesn’t seem disturbed. He keeps dancing, moving away from them now, towards a pole. He grinds against it and slowly starts undoing some of the leather wraps. Slits of skin are revealed, milky white and pale, reddened where the straps dug into his flesh. The skin looks soft, a stark contrast to the harsh bondage.

The Soldier starts to pull himself up and around the pole. He’s nearly naked now except for three straps around his lean chest, a small pair of torn black booty shorts that hid nothing, a series of smaller straps on his legs, black combat boots that looked like they were made for fashion not fighting, the collar and the mask. Vulnerable and exposed, he somehow still managed to look strong. Steve licked his lips, eyes trained on the pebbled nipples peeking out from between two straps.

His head is light, he can’t focus on anything except the beautiful man twisting in front of him. He barely notices how Rumlow has refilled his glass another two times. He drinks but can’t seem to quench his thirst.

The Soldier climbs the pole way up high and swings himself around and around to come down, his thick thighs squeezing tightly, and Steve is enraptured. The Soldier flips upside down, hands meeting the floor, and he deftly vaults himself to the second pole, continuing his gravity-defying dance. After playing with this pole, he climbs high to its top, spinning round to gain momentum. Steve gasps with the crowd as the Soldier lets go and lets himself fly from the middle pole to the last. He catches himself without strain, looking like a bird born to fly. He supports his body with only his arms, torso horizontal, legs split wide and open as he slides and spins down. At the bottom he gingerly toes the ground, then thrusts himself against the pole. Steve tries not to hear Rumlow’s heavy panting.

The music had gotten more and more intense. Now, it seems the Soldier is winding down, the music becoming slower, darkly sexy. The Soldier grasps at his collar, sinking to the floor. He writhes around, pulling at the straps, at his hair, tugging his own head around, and _oh._ The Soldier may have looked dominant at the start, but now he is clearly, helplessly submissive.

Heat floods Steve’s abdomen. The Soldier is close, in front of him really, and if Steve would reach out and lean forward, he would be able to trace the marks left by the restrictive leather. He finds himself leaning forward. He wonders what the Soldier smells like, his scent masked by the club’s heavy odor.

The dance ends with the Soldier on his knees, arms crossed behind him, head thrown back, neck exposed. His chest is heaving, and Steve wonders if its hard to catch his breath through the mask. His eyes are closed, lids fluttering. Steve thinks he looks gorgeous.

The lights dim, and the crowd loses itself in applause and dirty calls. Steve is stunned, and when he looks to Rumlow’s infuriating grin, he’s suddenly ashamed with himself.

Had he really enjoyed the show this much?

There was no denying it. He would never forget the way the Soldier had moved.

Filled with lust and alcohol as he was, Steve pinched his leg to ground himself.

“Another mouth-watering show by everyone’s favorite, our asset, The Winter Soldier! Please enjoy the rest of tonight’s tasty program.” A half-naked girl giggles out to the crowd, and then the stages are populated by other men and women who have nothing on the Soldier. Steve sits back, arms crossed.

“You liked him.” Rumlow prods his side.

“It was an amazing display of athletic strength and dexterity.”

“Oh, I’m sure you think so. Not like you’re sporting a stiffy or anything.” He mocks. Steve shifts in his seat but doesn’t move to hide his bulge. Rumlow leans back, clearly in the same predicament.

Bucky.

Steve hadn’t thought of him once during the entire performance.

Was he really so primal? Was he the kind of Alpha who would leave behind his Omega for whatever fine piece of ass sauntered passed?

He feels sick, stomach sloshing. The room spins slightly, and everything feels too close, suffocating.

“Are you happy now?” He growls out at Rumlow, who seems shocked at the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. “Can we go?”

“Yes, it’s just about time.” Rumlow’s surprise disappears quickly, his grin wide. “Follow me to the back and all will be revealed.”

“Tell me here. Now. I’ve waited enough.”

“So impatient. Come on, you’re going to want the privacy of the back room. Isn’t it a little too public here?”

“No one’s listening to us! Where the hell is Bucky!”

A few patrons glance their way, and Steve flushes.

“Good one, Cap. Fine, alright, lets go. You always were such a damn stick in the mud.”

Rumlow stands, and Steve has half a mind to drag him down and demand answers.

Instead, with reluctance, he follows. As soon as he finds Bucky, he swears he will never see or think about Brock Rumlow’s sorry existence ever again.

They go through a small hallway lined with doors, some open to reveal dressing rooms. At the end of the hall is a curtain, one that Brock brushes through without pause.

“Are we allowed back here?” There’s something strange about this whole situation.

“I am, and you’re with me. I know the owner rather well. That, and I have an appointment.”

“An appointment…?” God, Steve just wants to get the hell out of here.

“Yeah. In here.”

He pushes open a door, but instead of a dressing room the space looks like some kind of medieval torture chamber. Whips and blades and batons line the walls, and there are tables, bars, and strangely shaped contraptions adorned with chains and straps littered about.

In the middle of the room, sitting on one such table, is The Soldier.

He’s blindfolded, and his ears are boxed by large bulky headphones. His legs are already tied to the bottom end of the table, and his arms are bound and limp in his lap. The mask from earlier is still firmly in place, as are the scanty remains of his uniform.

“What the fuck is this.” Steve growls out.

“Close the door.” Rumlow snaps.

With a sigh, Steve does so. He glances at the Soldier, but the bound figure shows no reaction to their entrance.

“Grab two chairs and pull them up.” Rumlow beckons to the chairs near the Soldier’s table. As Steve does so, Rumlow wanders over to the wall of weapons. He examines two different ones before deciding on a flogger with several short, thin whips.

“Sit.” Rumlow himself takes a seat, and Steve follows. They are in front of the Soldier now, who reeks of a sickly sweet Omegan scent, one that Steve realizes with a sinking heart is laced with resigned anxiety. He doesn’t feel good about any of this. For a moment all three of them are quiet, and Steve can hear the faint buzzing of the white noise spilling through the Soldier’s headphones.

“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I brought you here.”

“Enough of this bullshit, Rumlow.”

Instead of answering, Rumlow cracks the whip against the inside of one of the Soldier’s spread thighs. The Soldier flinches, and his mask muffles a quiet whine.

“Do you even know anything about Bucky?” Steve asks lowly, eyes hooded and dangerous.

“Do you?” Rumlow mocks, cracking the whip down again, on the other leg, leaving thin lines of dotted red in its wake.

“Okay, I’ll tell you.” Steve sighs in relief. “One second, though.” He groans.

Rumlow stands and takes the Soldier’s bound arms, eliciting another, softer flinch. He pulls them above his head and backwards, binding them to the top of the table, leaving the Soldier prone and exposed.

Steve tries not to look at the Soldier as Rumlow stalks around him. It feels wrong.

“You know, I always hated you and Bucky.” Rumlow begins. “You were this puny shrimp of a guy, and Bucky thought just ‘cause he was a little handsome he could get away with acting like a little smug brat all the time.”

“Rumlow-“

“Let me talk. I always hated how you thought you could be strong, how you thought you were so much better than everyone else with your high and mighty moral code. All you accomplished was getting Bucky in trouble all the time, since you couldn’t even practice what you preached. I thought you were pathetic, and I thought Bucky was even more so for willingly hanging around with such a sickly little fuck.”

Rumlow cracks the whip, and the Soldier trembles.

“Did you invite me here just to insult me and have me watch your power play?”

“Shut up and listen if you want answers. You know, Bucky could have been something, if it wasn’t for being stuck with you. Okay, wrong, since he came out as an Omega all on his own.”

It’s Steve’s turn to flinch.

“Oh yeah, a real shocker, though not as much as when you presented Alpha.” Rumlow glowers. “I couldn’t fucking believe it. Yeah, you’d gotten taller, but you were still all skin and bones and not much else. It blew my mind how quickly it all happened. One moment, scrawny weakling. Next, tall ass beanstalk. Then, you started gaining weight. Your health improved. It’s like all of a sudden, Steve Rogers was the hottest shit around.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this…” 

“Fuck, can you ever shut up?” He cracks the whip particularly roughly on the Soldier’s stomach. Steve tries not to let the resulting groan get to him.

Rumlow unbinds the Soldier’s legs and flips him around, retying him facedown. The Soldier allows himself to be manhandled without resistance.

“Anyway, the point is, I always hated you.” To emphasize, he gives the Soldier two harsh lashes.

“Do you need to do that to him in front of me?” Steve is getting more and more uncomfortable as this strange act goes on.

“Absolutely. It’s not like the Soldier cares. He gets off on this, the sick fuck.” Rumlow grins. “Here, you give it a try.” He holds out the flogger.

“I’d rather not.”

“Do it, or I won’t tell you anything else.”

“You haven’t told me anything yet!” His frustration is rising, blood pounding in his ears.

“Exactly why you should do as I say.”

“This is blackmail. I’m starting to doubt you even know anything about Bucky.”

“Then you would be wrong, but it’s up to you. You can leave now. Or you can whip this Omega slut for information on your precious Bucky.”

Gritting his teeth, Steve hesitates for a moment before gingerly taking the whip from Rumlow. It’s heavy in his hands and he really doesn’t want to do this at all. He stands over the prone body, trying to ignore the Soldier’s trembling. Rumlow said he likes this, so he could just be shivering in anticipation, right? This wouldn’t be hurting him in any real way, would it?

He pictures Bucky’s smiling face and knows what he has to do. He lightly brings the whip down on the Soldier’s shoulder blade.

“What was that? Pathetic! Use those big muscles of yours, Cap, and show the Soldier what discipline really means.”

He shoots Rumlow a dirty look before bringing the whip down harder on the opposite shoulder. Three red lines form, the Soldier flinching, and Steve feels disgusting. This whole situation is just so, so wrong.

“When you left, it was like you took a piece of Bucky with you.”

Steve freezes, turns to Rumlow.

“No, no. You keep whipping, I’ll keep talking. That’s the deal.”

Steve tries to convey all his hatred for Rumlow in one fierce glare before turning his attention back to the Soldier, adding more angry-looking lash lines to his pale skin, ignoring the hopeless nausea bubbling up his throat.

“I saw him around town a few times. He always looked so lost. Then, once he presented, everything went to utter shit. Heard he was fired on the spot. I saw him sleeping in alleyways a few times.”

“And you didn’t help him?” Steve’s outrage leaks and he whips the Soldier more strongly than he had. Blood trickles from the newest marks. The Soldier is all tension now. He almost looks like he’s sobbing.

“God, no. It almost felt good to see him there, knowing Cap’s little bitch had nothing, when he always acted like he had everything. True, it’s dangerous to be homeless, but even more so if you’re an Omega. Must be why Pierce took pity on him. That, or he saw the potential in Bucky’s beautiful face.”

“Who the fuck is Pierce.” Steve growls, turning to Rumlow.

“Ah, ah. Here, use this instead.” He’s handed a thin wooden paddle, the flogger replaced on the wall.

“Looks like his back is pretty marked up right now. Let’s move onto his lower half, shall we?” Rumlow grabs a blade from the wall and deftly cuts the Soldier’s shorts open, revealing the round swell of his milky white ass underneath. He also unbuckles the straps on the Soldier’s thighs.

Steve stares at him, eyes hard, before cracking the paddle down on the Soldier’s bottom. It makes a loud stinging sound and leaves behind a bright red welt. The Soldier jerks hard as he cries out a muffled sob. He’s not just trembling anymore, whole body practically seizing up.

“Thatta boy.” Rumlow claps. “Pierce is a good friend of mine. He found Bucky half starved to death one night. Told me the poor thing was almost delirious, he was in such bad shape. Pierce is a very compassionate man, unlike me. Like I said, I’d leave him there to rot. Pierce, though, sees this drowned rat and takes pity on him. He has no obligation to, he doesn’t even know who this lowly Omega is, but he offers the brat some food, a warm place to sleep. You know what Bucky said?”

Rumlow chuckles, not giving Steve the chance to answer. “He told Pierce to get lost! I couldn’t believe it when he first told me, but I guess Bucky always was a stubborn little shit, wasn’t he?”

Steve’s jaw is clenched, grip tight on the paddle.

“Then, Pierce caught a scent underneath the stench of street trash, and he realized why Bucky was telling him off.” Rumlow’s grin is sinister, curling cruelly at the corners.

“No.” Steve chokes out.

“Yes.” Rumlow strides forward, not breaking Steve’s gaze as he brings his open palm down across the glowing welts on the Soldier’s behind. He strikes with enough force to elicit an agonized scream, the Soldier’s first since they’d begun this horrific game.

“He was going into heat, already well into the early stage. It was just a matter of minutes before he would start stinking up the place with fuck-me pheromones. So, Pierce did what any kind soul would do. He promised him safety and shelter. At a price.”

“That doesn’t sound very kind to me.” Steve bites out.

“Better than being raped in a filthy alley.” Rumlow jeers. He wrenches the paddle from Steve’s fist, and before moving to trade it for a large tapered plug, he brings it down in a series of fast, sharp smacks on the back of the Soldier’s exposed thighs. His entire length is practically striped with bloodied bruises.

“Finger him open.” Rumlow demands, motioning to the Soldier’s harassed ass. Steve gulps.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Then I don’t think I can tell you anything else.”

None of this is anything Steve had ever been prepared to do, but he’s in too deep now.

He needs to finish this.

Rumlow tightly squeezes The Soldier’s hips, which are then drawn upwards, back arched, presenting his tight pink pucker. Steve has to gently pulsate his fingertip to loosen it enough to push in slowly, other hand lightly cupping the Soldier’s abused cheek. When the Soldier clenches around him, Steve freezes.

“He likes it hard and fast.” Rumlow offers, but Steve only grits his teeth and slowly pushes his finger deeper. It’s hot and far too tight, without slick to help.

No slick. Was the Soldier really enjoying this?

“Hard and fast.” Rumlow says again, and so Steve wrenches his finger from the tight heat and then drives it back in to the hilt. The Soldier spasms around him, crying out. Steve repeats this a few times before easing a second finger in.

A bit of slick has gathered, smooth and soft. Though he’s still tight, there’s more give as Steve thrusts two fingers into him. The Soldier heaves with heavy pants.

He works him open, scissoring his fingers, curling them. Every twitch of his joints sends the Soldier into a fit of jolts, punctuated by moans.

“He’s a whore for this. Literally.” Rumlow snickers, then tosses the plug into the air, catching it with a jovial flourish. “Put in the third then we’ll move on to this beauty.”

As Steve pulls out, he realizes with a start that he is painfully hard, his pants straining. Shame burns his cheeks. He swallows, thickly, and re-enters, three digits quickly slippery with the Omega’s sweet-smelling slick. He thrusts rhythmically into the Soldier, flexing his hand all the while. The Soldier is practically whining now, gone limp with pleasured exhaustion, riding out Steve’s movements.

“Here, stick this in him.”

Steve’s fingers come free with an obscene pop, slick oozing and splattering. Though Steve has tried to remain clear headed, the sweet smell has become so strong it envelopes him, making his Alpha instincts erupt. His whole being desires to take the man in front of him, mount him and dominate, make him feel so good he forgets everything else. Internally, he chants Bucky’s name, resisting his primal urges.

He does not know the Soldier, and he does not want him. He wants Bucky, his Bucky. He needs him.

Steve slides the tapered end of the plug into the Soldier’s sopping hole, which readily takes it in until it reaches halfway, the thickening bulb spreading him wide. Steve pushes past the resistance and the plug is swallowed, stem and hilt sticking out, twitching in and out of time with the Soldier’s breathless quakes. He’s rhythmically tightening and pushing against the large obtrusion, hips shaking enticingly, swaying from side to side.

Steve glances at Rumlow. He’s pawing himself through his pants, sporting a very obvious tent. Steve tries not to think of his own engorged member. Hysteria washes over him at the sheer absurdity of this whole thing.

“Did Bucky go with Pierce?”

“No shit he did. Kid’s stubborn, but he doesn’t have a death wish. Told Pierce he has no money, can’t find a job, barely has any clothes on his back. Pierce told him, no problem, he has a job for him. Says he doesn’t discriminate against Omegas, and that he knows something Bucky could excel at.”

Relief washes over Steve at the thought that someone was there for Bucky when he couldn’t be. Someone reached out and helped him in his time of need.

“Doing what? Does he still work for Pierce now?”

“He’s been working for Pierce ever since. Doesn’t have to worry about starving on the streets, not about freezing to death or anything. All he has to do is make sure he does his job properly, and obey.”

The way Rumlow purrs the word ‘obey’ repulses Steve to his very core. 

“So, Pierce invites Bucky into his home. He tells him, ‘You can stay here as long as you need. I’ll provide you with food, clothing, and a roof over your head. I’ll get you a job. In return, you will comply with a few conditions, since I _am_ taking a risk and doing you an outstanding favor, after all.”

Here Rumlow grabs the plug’s handle and jerks it. He holds down the Soldier’s left side in a bruising grip as he slowly pulls the plug. The Soldier writhes, unable to do anything but submit.

He sticks his thumb into the Soldier and swirls, then gestures to a collection of dildos on the wall. “Pick one.”

Steve wants to protest, ask him what the conditions were, but he knows Rumlow will only continue if he does what he says. He approaches the shelf.

There are all sorts of sizes and strange shapes, most of which Steve would not want to imagine near any orifices ever. He settles on one that looks a little smaller than his own member. It’s made of smooth silicon and looks the most unassuming of the selection. Light pink and lightly ridged, it’s almost innocent.

“Lame.” Rumlow scoffs when he sees. “You lack imagination, Cap. Whatever, your choice. Come fuck him with it.”

Steve is getting real tired of Rumlow’s demands. He hates having to listen to his self-inflated ego, power-tripping over having information Steve doesn’t have but desperately needs. He wants to punch him and be done, but he knows cooperation will be the only way to get through this. It can’t all be in vain.

He’s been trying not to look too closely at the Soldier, but now he can’t help but notice the way his body looks diminished, small and shivering on the table. He’s almost too skinny, though he has the lean muscles of a dancer. He looks defiled, the welts and bruises in stark contrast to his pale pallor, his plush ass and thighs streaked, messy with slick. The headphones and face coverings are unsettling, removing all sense of identity and communication, hell, of humanity.

He was utterly helpless under their control.

Steve’s gut lurches as he brings the dildo to the Soldier’s hole. He doesn’t react as it enters, stretching him open again. He can only shake.

“Show some life, you pathetic animal!” Rumlow barks, despite knowing the Soldier can’t hear him. He grabs the paddle and brings it down hard over the sensitive meat underneath his cheeks. The Soldier arches, thrusting his ass up harder onto the dildo.

“Just keep it going in and out, all the way out then back in.” Rumlow orders as he pulls the Soldier’s hair back, forcing his back to stay arched, presenting as well as could be managed the way he was bound.

“Best part of this is, Bucky didn’t even ask what the conditions were.” Rumlow finally continues. “His heat was hitting hard by then. Pierce told me all his former bravado disappeared. He almost begged, asking Pierce to please just get him somewhere safe, that he would listen later. He thanked him incessantly as Pierce led them home. Bucky chose this.”

Rumlow takes the dildo from Steve, thrusting it quickly a few times before tearing it out. “Go ahead and take him. He’s been good and ready for awhile now, it’ll go right in. It’s fun to fuck him hard and dry, but I didn’t think that would be appropriate for our little conversation today, so I decided we’d take it easy.”

“I’m not going to have sex with this man.” Steve says in disbelief.

“Really? You’re saying this now? Fine, I’ll go first.” He undoes his belt and pulls out his cock, somewhat shorter than Steve’s own, but thick. He pushes Steve out of the way and crushingly squeezes the Soldier’s hips, forcing himself in with one hard prod.

Steve doesn’t want to see this. Any of this.

He can’t look away.

Rumlow is a cruel lover, treating the Soldier’s battered body roughly, going out of his way to hurt. He tugs the Soldier’s hair in rhythm with his hips, his other hand pinching and grabbing flesh all over. He moves relentlessly, speeding up, clutching tightly and gritting his teeth. His hand moves from the knot of hair to the back of the Soldier’s thin neck, fingers digging into the delicate flesh of the sides. Rumlow squeezes as he tenses and throws his head back, sighing out a groan of satisfaction.

“Did you just cum in him?”

“He’s clean.” Rumlow justifies absently. He rolls his hips slowly, milking the last of his climax.

“Always so good, little Soldier.” Rumlow says, then shakes his head slightly, clearing his post orgasm haze. He loosens his grip. The Soldier spasms, gasping for breath.

“So, Pierce helped Bucky through his heat. Said the whole thing lasted for days, and that it was the sweetest heat he’d ever beheld.”

Steve absolutely hates the thought of Bucky with anyone but him. “Pierce never said anything sexual would happen if he accepted the help!”

“No, but Steve, what do you expect?” Rumlow snorts, cleaning his dick. He zips his jeans closed.

“I expect people not to take advantage of others when they’re at their most vulnerable!”

“Oh, is that what you believe? What do you think we’re doing right now?”

Steve’s breath catches. He looks at the body lying still, naked and tied, on the table.

“You said he wants this.”

“It’s his job to want this.” Rumlow smirks.

“He wouldn’t do the job if he didn’t want to do it.”

“That’s debateable, Steve. I see you’ve never had to struggle for money.”

Anger sears through his chest. He sees cold Christmases with few presents, remembers the pantry running low and his mother pouring over bills late into the night. His childhood feebleness had cost a multitude of treatments and medications. Rumlow knew nothing.

“Did Pierce bond with Bucky?” The words pain Steve to say.

“No. Keep in mind they literally just met next to some dumpsters. Pierce is no fool.”

“Has he bonded him since then?” Steve growls, done with Rumlow playing difficult.

“That’s another no. It’s the one thing Bucky made clear he didn’t want, right from the start. Made Pierce promise, as if that would stop him. After the heat they finally hashed out the conditions. All four of them.”

Rumlow studies the wall where the whips dangle from nails. He picks up a black riding crop, examines it, then puts it back on its peg. He does the same with another nearly identical crop, before settling back on the first choice. He’s taking his time deliberately, and Steve is going crazy.

Rumlow’s grin is as sleazy as the haughty glint in his eyes. He taps the crop around a few times on the Soldier’s waist. “First condition.” He cracks the crop in the tender spot. “He can work for Pierce, but Pierce will keep the wages he earns to go towards living expenses. Bucky will receive a small allowance for personal use.”

Rumlow is describing financial abuse. Steve’s already upset stomach lurches. He’d hoped that Pierce really was as kind as Rumlow praised, but this forced dependence doesn’t sound fair in any way.

Rumlow hits the Soldier again. “Second condition. Pierce knows best. Bucky needs to listen to everything he says, and he has to obey without complaint.”

“Now wait a minute-“

“Third condition.” Rumlow smacks the Soldier with force. “If he is disobedient, he will be punished according to the severity of his misbehavior.”

Steve is going to be sick. He can barely hear Rumlow’s contemptuous voice over his booming blood pressure. His fists are tight at his side.

This doesn’t sound like help from a good Samaritan. This sounds like carefully crafted abuse.

Could Bucky really have agreed to all this?

“Fourth and final condition. Bucky must obey Pierce’s household rules, and any new regulations Pierce may deem fit. This condition is my personal favorite, because Pierce could essentially come up with countless additional rules. He really thought things through.” Rumlow grins, tone expressing his admiration for Pierce’s cunning.

Through gritted teeth, Steve asks “What kind of household rules?”

Rumlow’s grin splits wider. “Oh, you know, typical roommate things. Respect the space, keep everything clean, cook the meals. Other things, too, like eat only when told. Make no decisions without Pierce’s approval, and don’t make the wrong choices. Call Pierce ‘Sir’ at all times. Speak only when spoken to, or not at all. Oh, and he told Bucky not to respond to his own name anymore. Pierce gave him a new one, along with some new nicknames. Told him Bucky as he knew himself doesn’t exist anymore, not if he wants Pierce’s security.”

Horror grows with every new word pouring forth.

“He couldn’t have agreed to any of this.” Steve whispers.

“Oh, but he did.” Rumlow laughs, whipping the Soldier again. “Pierce can be rather persuasive. Makes a lot of pretty-sounding promises, presents his ideas in a way that make them sound more than reasonable. Bucky didn’t stand a chance, not with how determined Piece was to make him stay.”

“He didn’t bond him though.”

“No, no, he didn’t want him like that. A bonded Omega is no good for the line of work Pierce had in mind. Plus, why tie Bucky to him physically when he could get the brat to willingly follow his every whim?”

Steve wants to kill Rumlow, then track down Pierce and kill him, slowly and painfully. The bloodlust is so strong it whites out his vision. His chest rumbles with a predatory growl, secreting the overwhelming scent of pure fury.

“What did he do to Bucky. Where is he.” Steve barely manages to say the words, quiet with a threatening warning. He’s done playing now.

Brock isn’t grinning anymore. He’s staring with a calculated gaze. Then, the corner of his mouth crooks up, sly and hateful. Steve wants to break his teeth, but holds himself back. He’s so close now.

“I’ll tell you.” He grabs one of the Soldier’s cheeks, shaking it with a firm squeeze. “While you fuck him.”

“No.” Steve’s tone is dangerous.

Rumlow doesn’t back down. “Finish this.” When Steve makes no move to move aside from glaring more intensely, Rumlow adds “Finish this and we’ll be done. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll bring you to Bucky.”

Steve is shaking with repressed rage, eyes wild with desperation. Everything is spiraling fast, worsening by the minute. He needs to get to Bucky. He needs to save him.

He takes a deep breath, forces his eyelids shut, grounds himself. When he reopens them, his eyes are a cold, hard blue, still desperate but whole-mindedly determined. He doesn’t say anything, but Rumlow recognizes his resolve.

“I want you to do it facing him.” Rumlow adds, once again untying the Soldier’s legs and flipping him over. The Soldier is easy to move, showing no resistance. “’ll even untie his arms. He’s not going anywhere anyway.”

Steve pushes Rumlow out of the way. He gently takes the Soldier’s legs and bends them, spreads them open. He prods an exploratory finger at the Soldier’s entrance. It’s still smooth, but the slick has started to dry. Steve thrusts slowly in and out a few times, triggering a light flow of fresh slick. With his other hand he jerks himself, his erection having flagged as Rumlow had laid out Pierce’s conditions.

“Pierce always appreciated the arts. Fine arts, theatre, photography, you name it. He always says the arts can speak more freely than words can. Surrounding himself with art is his passion. He’s a collector of sorts.”

Rumlow pauses as Steve hooks bruised legs over his shoulders and aligns himself with the Soldier. Steve tries to move mechanically, but he can’t help but picture the way the Soldier had flown through the air just an hour earlier. He wants to be doing this with Bucky, not to some prostitute in Rumlow’s presence.

He wants to get this over with quickly, but the moan the Soldier releases when Steve breaches is so enticing it pushes him over the edge. His hips seem to thrust all on their own, adopting a solid pace that has the Soldier gasping with every stroke.

“Well, he looked at Bucky and saw a potential masterpiece. He asked Bucky if he’d ever wanted to be a dancer.”

“Bucky loves to dance.” Steve groans out, remembering countless afternoons spent sketching as Bucky danced lazily around their small apartment to the radio. They’d gone out dancing at least one night a week. Steve wasn’t much one for dancing, but he loved to see Bucky’s joy as he spun his way through a room.

“Yeah, I remember the queer stealing the show on prom night. All the girls wanted a dance with him. With a fucking fairy.” Rumlow muttered the last part under his breath. Steve remembers that night well. He’d wanted to steal Bucky away from everyone else. “So, all in all, Pierce’s deal worked out mighty well for Bucky.”

Steve unconsciously runs his hands down the soldier’s sides, caressing the damaged flesh. The Soldier shudders under his touch as if electrified. He smells so good, tangy with sweat. Steve feels his orgasm building as he continues to ride the submissive body beneath him.

“Yeah, Bucky picked up the dancing without much problem. It was at home that he toed the line. Pierce told me Bucky was unruly at first. He wasn’t so good at listening, at shutting his mouth when he should have. Pierce taught him real quick what would happen if he behaved like a goddamn brat, though. Says Bucky doesn’t fight back so much anymore. He knows his place now.”

Steve is thrusting relentlessly, grunting every time he sinks down to the hilt. His hands encircle the Soldier’s slim waist, fingers digging deep. He’s drunk with arousal but every word out of Rumlow’s mouth makes him want to tear the room apart, the anger made all the more potent by his raging hormones.

“Where is he?” Steve manages to bite out, dripping with sweat. He’s almost there.

“The Soldier is a truly beautiful specimen, isn’t he?” Rumlow drawls. Steve is so close, teetering on the edge. “His pathetic bitch body is strong enough to dance like some sort of sinful angel. The Soldier’s real calling, however, is in his namesake. He’s the perfect little soldier. It’s like he was born to _obey_.”

Steve’s stomach sinks even as his balls tighten, too far gone. Without further warning he’s releasing, vision spotting as the pleasure overtakes him. His senses are assaulted and he sways backwards, softening member slipping out as he stumbles. The Soldier spasms, then stops moving all together.

“No.” Steve chokes, vision blurring, head spinning. Every nerve is on fire.

“You want to see your precious Bucky again? You want me to bring him to you?”

“No.” Steve chokes again. It can’t be. God, it can’t be.

Rumlow yanks the headphones off the Soldier’s ears. The white noise grates until Rumlow silences them with a flick.

“There’s not much of him left.” Rumlow laughs cruelly, pulling the blindfold from the Soldier’s eyes. They’re closed and wet, tears leaking steadily through thick clumps of long lashes.

“I brought you this far. I think it’s up to you to come say hello.” Rumlow smirks, beckoning to the Soldier’s mask.

Steve’s legs won’t listen to him. He’s frozen, eyes fixed on the way the Soldier’s hair fans around him, long and brown.

This can’t be real.

He breaks his gaze, takes the Soldier in from his bare feet, up his bruised ankles and shapely legs, over his bleeding torso. His skin is translucent, bones protruding. Limp arms with bloodied wrists splay at his sides. His muscles twitch, so powerful earlier on stage, now reduced to mere meat on a platter.

He steps forward. His hand comes up slowly, shaking badly. It doesn’t feel like his arm.

He brushes his fingers against the mask’s thick black fabric. Steve’s hands are shaking so hard he fumbles. The Soldier shows no reaction.

“Oh, for fucks sake Rogers.” Rumlow snaps, impatient. He grabs the mask and tears it from the Soldier’s face.

Steve knows these smooth angles and full lips, the curve of his jaw and the round point of his nose. He knows that chin and those cheeks, no matter how gaunt they appear.

Bucky’s face. 

The Soldier’s eyes flicker open, blind and bleary. Smudged with makeup and wet with tears, his grey irises look even more striking. The blow to Steve’s gut is pure agony.

“Bucky...” Steves whispers. “Bucky…” He’s broken.

The Soldier shudders in pain, his face crumpling as he winces.

Nausea surges up Steve’s throat. He turns to Rumlow, eyes blown wide with insanity.

“Meet Pierce’s famed Winter Soldier; Bucky Barnes, professional bitch.” His smirk is wicked.

Steve vomits. He spews all over Rumlow’s shirt, bile splattering on his face and shoes.

Rumlow jumps back, swearing.

“What the fuck, Rogers-!”

He’s quickly silenced by a hard blow to the head, which he hits again as he collapses to the floor, unconscious.

Steve stands panting over him. Everything is a mess, his instincts screaming at him to destroy.

He already helped destroy Bucky.

Steve swallows hard and drags his arm across his mouth to wipe away his sour spit. He notices his face is wet, like Bucky’s.

Steve turns around slowly. He takes a heavy step forward.

The Soldier looks up, scared through his confused haze.

Steve carefully reaches his hand out, brushes the back of his fingers against the Soldier’s cheek. He flinches, but then leans hesitantly into it, looking up through his lashes.

Recognition flashes through icy gray eyes.

“Steve?” The Soldier rasps.

His voice is barely a whisper, rough and wrecked but sounding so heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I’m here, Bucky.” Steve drops to his knees, holding the Soldier’s face lightly. He’s sobbing openly now. “I’m here. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“Steve.” The Soldier smiles.

How can he smile?

The triumph of holding Bucky again is tainted, all wrong, and instead of relief Steve is sick with dismay.

The Soldier goes limp, head rolling backwards, and he’s unconscious again.

The room is quiet aside from weeping sobs.

What has Steve done?


	3. What Once Was

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes care of Bucky and thinks back on how they came to be.

Steve has loved Bucky his entire life, in some form or another.

He’s not sure when their love became romantic, it had happened so smoothly. They never called each other boyfriends, not even lovers. If Steve had to put a title to it, he’d call Bucky his soulmate.

He’s carrying Bucky now, his naked form huddled in Steve’s over sized jacket. It feels right, to have Bucky clutched in his arms, even if the circumstances are twisted, so disturbingly _wrong._ Bucky used to be the one to carry Steve, back when Steve had been small and sickly. Now, Bucky feels too tiny, a bare weight in his arms, body lacking substance.

Blood stains bloom along the cocoon of Steve’s light jean jacket. He needs to get them to safety, needs to bandage the injuries Steve himself helped create. The guilt is solid in his throat, throbs in his chest.

The nausea is ever-present, worsened by the pained exhilaration of having Bucky back.

He stumbles into one of the towns two motels, shifting Bucky so that the stains aren’t too obvious. His head is tucked against Steve’s shoulder, hair curtaining his face. His bare legs dangle on the other side, bruised thighs hidden under the jacket, supported in Steve’s protective grip.

“Too much to drink?” The lady at the counter teases, but Steve is in no mood to indulge in small talk. He is cold and business-like, rushing the transaction. Once he has the key, he practically sprints to the room, ignoring lady’s offended huff as he disappears down the hall.

Locking the door behind him, Steve exhales heavily. The safety of the floral-patterned hotel room is a relief, but everything is far from settled.

He sets Bucky down on the queen-sized bed. He looks even smaller on it, still engulfed by the jacket.

Steve spends a moment studying his face. He’s completely out, the jostling of Steve’s jog having had no effect on him. Steve’s gaze traces the slant of Bucky’s nose, the swell of his full lips. He takes in the jawline, softly sharp, and the cheekbones that stick out too much. There’s a small worry line between Bucky’s brows even in his sleep, but the rest of his face is smooth and pale.

Steve could drink his image in forever.

The sight of dark red on denim breaks him from his daze and spurs him into action. He doesn’t want to leave Bucky’s side for even a moment, but he needs to tend to him.

Bucky used to be the one to take care of him. It’s Steve’s turn to return the favor, even if Bucky was never the cause of any of Steve’s frailties.

He finds a first aid kit in the small bathroom and sets to work. He unwraps the jacket then tosses it aside.

The lash lines and bruises look worse under the hotel’s harsh light, so much clearer than under the club’s dimly sensual glow.

Tears stream down Steve’s face, splashing onto Bucky’s sunken stomach.

This is Bucky, his Bucky. At his core, Steve’s instincts roar at the thought of _his_ Omega. _Suffering._

Steve grounds himself. Instinctual anger will do more harm now than good. He works slowly and meticulously, stretching white fabric across damaged skin. Closer inspection reveals a disturbing array of pink and white scars that Steve hadn’t noticed earlier.

It already feels like ages have passed since they left the club’s back room. It hasn’t even been an hour.

Steve curses himself when he grazes Bucky’s side, accidentally brushing against the series of purple finger-shaped bruises framing his hips. Steve remembers gripping there, pounding into him, not caring for the anonymous being beneath him…

Steve bites his lip hard, focuses on the task at hand. By the time he’s done, there are no bandages left in the kit, and he’s exhausted the band aids as well on every minor scratch.

Now that his wounds are wrapped, the thick black collar on Bucky’s neck stands out sharply. The fit is almost too snug, skin around it visibly irritated. Steve needs to get it off, free him from the shackles binding him. He’s careful as he cuts the offending object, unclasping it from the thin neck before tossing it into the waste bin behind him.

With a belated blush, Steve realizes Bucky is completely naked aside from the dressings. Steve hadn’t brought much with him, just a small backpack with basic clothes and toiletries. He pulls out a sleep shirt and a pair of fresh boxers and mindfully clothes his friend. Like with his jacket, the shirt engulfs Bucky. His boxers billow but thankfully the elastic manages to hold them in place.

Looking at Bucky now, Steve has an overwhelming urge to cuddle the Omega close, take him in to himself and keep him by his side so that the other can never be hurt again.

So long as Steve himself doesn’t hurt him. He swallows forcefully, jaw clenched.

Never again.

For now, Bucky needs rest. His body needs to recover.

The state of his mind, however, may need more than a good night’s sleep to salvage.

Steve tucks Bucky under the sheets, pulling the comforter up high. He isn’t sure if the tremors are due to the cold, the pain, malnutrition, or something else entirely. Whatever it is, it’s nothing good.

He pulls an armchair forward and settles at Bucky’s bedside. He can’t imagine sleeping, leftover adrenaline still fueling his system. He’s weary but awake, staring at Bucky’s sleeping face. He can’t look away, but just seeing is not enough.

Steve tentatively reaches under the covers and finds Bucky’s hand. He closes his own larger hand around it, squeezing gently, absentmindedly running his thumb along his knuckles.

Would Bucky be the same as before?

Steve thinks of a young boy, face red from cold, laughing loud and wide, larger than life.

He thinks of Bucky’s devilish smile, smiling slow and cocky, calling him a punk in that fond tone of his.

He thinks of the Soldier, lying helpless and exposed.

No, he can’t be the same. Not after years of whatever fucked up shit he’s suffered.

Each image Steve’s traitorous mind conjures is worse than the last. Bucky crying, forced to do terrible things. Played with like a doll, treated like less than an animal.

Bucky beaten and scared, alone.

Worse, Bucky beaten and scared, surrounded by cruel Alphas chasing only their own selfish pleasure, using Bucky and leaving him broken.

Steve has to run to the bathroom, emptying his stomach for the second time that night. He remembers Rumlow’s face, dribbled with vomit, and though he feels a glimmer of gratification at his expense, he can’t fully bring himself to smile.

He’s glad he punched the other Alpha out.

After washing his mouth Steve rubs his face, digging his fingers into tired eyes. Like a switch has flipped the events of the night catch up to him. His shoulders droop with exhaustion.

He returns to his armchair, again taking Bucky’s hand in both of his.

Steve slumps. He doesn’t want to think about the hell that Bucky has endured. Not now. He wants to cherish Bucky, celebrate him instead of drowning himself in sorrow.

He has to be strong for Bucky, where he couldn’t be before.

He forces himself not to think about chains or leather or the snapping of whips. Instead, Steve drifts willfully into nostalgia. He remembers lazy afternoons spent lounging with Bucky, when it was too hot to move and the air conditioner kept breaking down. That summer of record-breaking heat had been Steve’s last before he’d shipped out for college, leaving Bucky and their small apartment home behind.

It feels like a lifetime ago now.

He thinks further back, to a time before they learned about the weight of the world and the worries that came with it.

Bucky always was a bit of a rascal, quick to laugh or to pull a charming grin. He was also incredibly caring and kind, despite his cheeky nature. From the moment he had approached Steve, he had known the wily brunette was special.

They’d met like most young boys do when first making friends, that is, while playing on the street. Well, not so much playing, in Steve’s case. He was facing two bullies, kids who thought they ruled the area because they had bikes. They had been harassing the other kids for days, and Steve was sick of it. He hadn’t flinched when he’d called out to the boys and they’d drifted to a stop in front of him, aiming to knock him over. He’d stood, fierce, and told them to stop being mean and to play fair.

They hadn’t liked that. One had spit in his face, the other calling him a baby. Steve was small for his age, but this was before illness wracked his body, and he stood strong. He hated bullies and wasn’t afraid to stand up to them.

Even back then Steve often wondered why it was so hard for some people to get along, to offer basic respect to one another.

The bullies evidently did not agree with his line of thinking.

“You’re just jealous ‘cause you’re too poor for a nice bike like mine.” The bigger boy scoffed.

“I don’t mind your bike. It’s your attitude that’s in poor taste.” He’d replied.

“My attitude? I think you’re the one who should check himself, twerp. You ain’t got nothing.” He looked to his friend and nodded. “Let’s get him.”

They closed in on him, but Steve wasn’t one to run. The crony shoved him, hard, but he kept his balance, barely stumbling back. Though they towered over him, Steve took a resolute step forward, glaring.

“I’m not backing down. You guys should be nice to the others, or go play somewhere else.”

“This shrimp thinks he can tell us what to do! You’re sorely mistaken, and I’m going to make sure you regret opening your goody-two-shoes mouth.”

That’s how Steve ended up eating gravel.

“Not so tough now! Gonna run home crying to your momma, little baby?” The big bully stomped down hard on Steve’s ankle. He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction but couldn’t help crying out.

This was the precise moment Steve first lay eyes upon Bucky. The boy barreled straight into the one crushing his ankle, sending both of them toppling. They scuffled on the ground before the other bully pulled Steve’s savior up by his collar. The bigger bully stood, menacing.

“You’re going to regret that.”

“Not as much as you’ll regret your face.” The new boy rose to the challenge. The bully punched him in the stomach, and he doubled over.

“That all you got?” The newcomer laughed, then slammed his head back to headbutt the boy holding his shirt. He let go, clutching his nose.

Steve took the opportunity to pull himself to his feet. His ankle throbbed, but he ignored it, shifting his weight.

“You’re dead!”

He charged, but the bigger bully shouldered him off track. He hit the ground again with a yelp.

“Don’t touch him.” Steve’s ally looked positively murderous.

“You can’t stop me-” The sharp left hook did, indeed, stop him.

“We don’t want any more problems here. Leave us alone.” The brunette smiled, jovial but decisive.

The bullies didn’t leave right away, but when the sidekick realized his nose was actually broken and wasn’t going to stop gushing anytime soon, he bailed on his friend, who grabbed his bike and sped off the moment he realized he was outnumbered.

Ultimately, Steve was left standing alone with the stranger.

“You’re a bit of a punk, aren’t ya?” The other boy grinned, elbowing Steve firmly.

“Takes one to know one. Jerk.” Steve beamed back, guard dropping at the other’s open expression.

“But really, thank you.” Steve said once they’ve stopped laughing.

“You in the habit of taking on multiple guys double your size? Or was this a one-time thing? I saw you approach them, but boy did they deserve that telling off. None of the other kids know what to do, so they do nothing and run away.”

“You didn’t run away.”

“No, but I didn’t run in straight away either.”

“You would’ve been silly to do that. I was hoping they would tone it down without fighting, but it’s like that’s exactly what they want.”

“They want power.” Bucky scowled. “They don’t like to share, and they don’t care about trampling over others to get their way. Best stay away from people like that.”

“What, and let them get away with treating everyone like garbage? No way! Someone needs to stand up to them, and if no one else does, it’s gonna be me!”

“Something tells me you’d run in even if someone else already did first, punk.” The boy winked.

“Steve. My name, it’s Steve. Rogers.”

“Pleased to make your ‘quaintance, Stevie. The name’s James.”

“Just Jamie?”

James scowled. “God, please don’t.”

“Hey, you called me Stevie!”

“It suits you. Jamie doesn’t do it for me. I’m Barnes, by the way. James Buchanan.

“Buchanan?”

“Yeah, try making a nickname out of that one.” James teased.

Steve accepted the challenge.

“Bucky. You can only be Bucky to me now.”

Bucky groaned, smiling. The name stuck, as did their easy friendship.

They became inseparable. Bucky was a fiercely loyal friend, protective without treating Steve like he was made of glass. This was true even when Steve’s health started failing him, and everyone else around him acted like a soft touch might cripple the poor sick boy. Bucky still held his hand with a firm grip, not afraid that Steve would break, but that he would disappear.

Ever since Steve was born, he was frail. He was born prematurely and spent the first month of his life in the hospital. As he grew, it was one problem after another. Scarlet fever here, pneumonia there, then a bout of the flu that lasted much longer than it should have. Thankfully, though he was prone to illness and lived with a bad case of asthma, he always managed to come out stronger. His mother fussed over him, and Bucky spent hours by his bedside, but nothing truly threatened his life.

Not until the disease came.

Steve was an optimist by nature, but as his body turned on him he found it harder and harder to keep himself afloat. It seemed like one day, everything was as fine as it could be for a boy of his constitution, then the next, everything was going wrong. He became weaker and weaker, and an aching soreness settled into his bones.

He was no stranger to pain, but as his blood was further corrupted, merely being awake became a form of torture. At first, he was able to get out of bed for hours at a time. Then, the duration he could stay upright shortened, and soon he wasn’t able to cross the room without his legs threatening to fail him. It was impossible to move, but staying still was a trial of its own.

Nausea was his constant companion, as was the sensation that his heart was pumping off beat. Nothing felt right, even his skin stretched abrasively over his bones.

Essentially, everything hurt and he couldn’t do anything about it. Disease is not a bully you can talk down, nor can it be beaten off with your fists. It serves only to steal health and time, offering only more suffering in exchange.

Those were dark days, ones that Steve had often thought would be his last.

“Today’s the day.” He’d think, curled into himself. “I’m dying, I’m not going to make it out of this one.”

His own mortality haunted him, mocked him when he’d see his image in the mirror, bones jutting out and eyes heavily bagged. He already looked dead, an animated corpse barely holding on.

Even worse than the constant companion of pain was the weight of seeing his loved ones worry for him. His mother withered to a shadow of her former self, wearing herself thin with double shifts to raise enough money to cover his treatment. She was a damn good nurse, but she was barely running on fumes. When she was home, if she wasn’t tending to Steve, she was pouring over bills and forms. Steve knew she couldn’t get enough sleep, lying awake even when she had the chance to catch up. She said she was eating at work, but there was always just enough food in the house for Steve to eat, the rare times his stomach would allow him to.

Steve and Sarah Rogers were barely holding on, and the stress did little to help his declining health. Without Bucky, Steve is sure his small family would have fallen apart much sooner than it had.

Bucky never shied away from Steve, not even when his skeletal form could barely breath on its own. They’d already spend most of their time together, but from the moment he had learned of Steve’s diagnosis, Bucky became a fixture by his side. He ensured Steve had all his needs met, and his presence reminded Steve that he wasn’t alone. He spent weeks sleeping at Steve’s, hardly going home between his extended visits. Sarah worked and worried, but how thankful she must have been to have a rock like Bucky by her son’s side.

Steve should have felt suffocated by his incessant company, but instead Bucky was a light in the gloom. He never complained, just took care of Steve at his lowest like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do. He helped Steve without reluctance, and carefully hid the sadness that weighed on him as he watched his best friend deteriorate before his very eyes. He was always there to cheer Steve up with a smile, cracking jokes, always acting like Steve would get through this, just as he had every illness before.

It was one of those moments, Bucky talking about the future as if it was something he and Steve would face together, when Steve snapped.

He was frustrated by his inability to live properly. Confined to his bed, at the mercy of his dying body, Steve was losing the will to hope.

“Stop talking like we’re going to be fine.” Steve bit out, eyes flashing. “I’m going to be dead by the end of the year and we both know it.”

“Steve, no-“

“Shut up! Always so hopeful, with that stupid smile. You think this is easy for me? To live like this?”

“Of course not!” Bucky bellowed. His voice cracked as he continued, softer. “Of course not, Stevie. I know this is hard. Hard doesn’t even cover it. But what can I do, what else can I do but hope and pray that my best guy makes it through this, too, like he has every other obstacle he’s faced before?”

Bucky dropped his face into his hands. “I can’t lose you, Stevie. I don’t know what I’d do without you. Please don’t leave me…” His voice broke, wet with tears he tried to wipe away. “Sorry, please, don’t listen to me. I’m being selfish. I just want to help you as much as I can. Maybe I’m coming on too strong, maybe I’m just making things worse.”

“No!” Steve shouted, interrupting Bucky’s blabbering. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry, Bucky. I’m just so, so tired of all this. I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.”

“You don’t have to endure this on your own. I believe in you Steve, no matter what. Whatever happens, I will always support you. Even if you come to hate me, I’d do what I need to. But really, if you need me to go, I can give you more space.”

“No, Buck. I do need you here. Thank you, for everything. You’re too good for me.”

“Nonsense, you dummy. You’re worth everything.”

“How can you say such embarrassing stuff with a straight face?”

Bucky’s smile split wide and crooked. “Guess you’re stuck with a cheeseball, Steve. You can’t get rid of me now!”

Steve got worse before he got better.

He’s still barely conscious of that week. They’d moved him to the hospital, the makeshift nursing room they’d set up at home finally not enough to keep him alive. He knew only flashes of white and the drone of mechanical beeps. He remembers the heaviness in his palms, held tightly but unknown hands.

He felt life leaving him, gathering his soul up within his body and pulling it through his core. 

This is it, he’d thought.

Dry lips had parted, voice no more than a thin, slurred sound at the back of throat. “M-m. B-k. L-Lv oo.”

Darkness.

Then, miraculously, he woke up.

Bright morning light streamed though the room, blinding him.

He hurt, but not how he had before.

“Steve?”

His eyes blinked open.

The pure awe in Bucky’s face stole away his already shallow breath. Tears trickled then streamed, eyes brimming with relief, and Bucky covered Steve’s body with his own.

He pulled back quickly. “Sorry, Steve, sorry. I’m just so happy-“

Steve reached out and took Bucky’s hand. His arm shook, grasp weak, but it’s there.

He’s alive.

“Hi Buck.”

Recovering took a long time, but Steve’s optimism was back in full swing. He pushed his limits too far sometimes, but that’s when Bucky stepped in. He never stopped Steve from doing things, instead redirecting his energy towards a different activity.

When Steve could walk again, he was eager to stay on his feet. They spent many afternoons in Central Park, wandering or lounging on the grassy plains. Things he had taken for granted touched him now in new ways. It was good to be outside, to hear people and animals busy with their own lives, to soak in the light of the sun, to delight in the wind’s breezy caress.

Life takes on a new flavor once death has been tasted.

They tried new things, amusement parks and late-night dancing. Sneaking into movies at the carpark, dripping ice cream on the beach.

By his side, Bucky glowed.

At home, his mother withered further.

Steve’s remission was a godsend, but the toll on Sarah finally caught up. As Steve grew stronger, gaining back lost weight and then more, he shot up a few inches and stood taller than his mother, who seemed to stoop into herself. She was smaller than he remembered, almost gaunt, and fatigue emanated off her like a sigh.

Unlike Steve, she didn’t get better. She gradually stopped working, and then at home she lay on the couch, staring into space.

“Life has worn me out.” She would say.

Only when she was with her son would she manage a weak smile, forever grateful for his strengthening health. Her heart soared to see him so radiant, her boy who shined brighter than any other. He deserved to live a good, long life, after all he’d been dealt.

“Bucky, thank you.” Steve had overheard her say to him in confidence.

“No need to thank me, really.”

“No. No, thank you, truly, for being with my son. You have enriched both of our lives, and you are so strong. You’re like Steve, just endlessly good. Please, stay by his side, even when I can’t be.”

“You don’t need to ask me. Of course, Sarah. Always.” The resolution is spoken so frankly.

His mom smiled. “Promise me anyway.”

“You have my word.”

“I swear, if fated mates were more than an old fairy tale, you two would be perfect examples.” Sarah let one of her ringing laughs that had become so rare to hear of late.

Both boys had flushed, Bucky spluttering. Inside, a strange warmth blossomed.

Bucky was more than Steve’s best friend, more than his brother. They weren’t lovers, still too young to be able to think about love and romance without embarrassment, but Steve knew that he needs Bucky in his life. When he’s with Bucky, he feels at home.

Soulmates, he thought fondly.

After his mom’s funeral, Bucky was the one to hold him as he sobs. Injustice always angered Steve, but the death of his mother is too wholly _wrong_ to process. She had held out so long, but it had finally become too much for her overburdened body to take.

Steve was alone.

Except he wasn’t. “I’m with you!” Bucky had exclaimed, pulling him in tight. He didn’t have to be alone. He had Bucky, and Bucky had him.

Somehow, they managed to survive past that first month without Sarah Rogers.

After much discussion, Bucky convinced Steve that of course they should rent a small apartment together. It was obviously their next step.

They quickly became well acquainted with bills and paper work, and Bucky’s parents were more than happy to help them move out. With Bucky’s younger sisters starting to grow into unruly teenagers, their small townhouse was cramped. Besides, Bucky had a job down at the docks, one that he’d been at for over a year already.

Sarah Rogers hadn’t had much to leave behind for her son, but she had ensured there were no legal loose ends to make this period even more difficult for Steve. She left him a small sum as inheritance, everything she had managed to scrape aside despite mounting bills. It was enough for Steve to contribute to rent and food, but Bucky paid the majority. Though he was better, Steve was still recovering, and Bucky didn’t want him out in the workforce right away.

“Focus on yourself and your studies, Stevie. You’re a smart guy, too smart to throw it all away to work some dead-end job.”

“Same goes for you, Buck! You don’t need to be the only one working.”

“How ‘bout this, you commission some of your art on the side, instead of getting some low wage gig?”

“That’s… actually a great idea. If I can find anyone to buy my work.”

“Have you seen your art? It’ll sell like hot cakes on a cold day. Here, I’ll be your first customer. I want a portrait of my best guy in your finest watercolors.”

“Bucky! You can’t just pay me to draw for you, I give you pictures all the time.”

“In that case, you better work really hard on this one.” Bucky winked. “You make beautiful pictures, Steve. Don’t sell yourself short. I’ll help you with advertisement and everything.”

That’s how Steve managed to start making an income, though it was far from steady. Bucky’s encouragement made him re-evaluate his own skills. Art had always been his hobby, not something he took too seriously. It brought him joy to see people enjoying what he had created, though his favorite was still the soft look that would come over Bucky’s face when he thought Steve was too absorbed in his painting to notice. Bucky was proud of Steve, and that warmed him more than any sale could.

In fact, without Bucky’s encouragement and support, Steve would have let many things in life pass him by. When Steve had left their hometown to pursue a degree at a prestigious university, it had been at Bucky’s insistence. Steve wouldn’t have even applied on his own, content to stay in their small apartment, attend community college and find some mundane job to pay the bills. When he thought of the future, he always saw Bucky by his side, so with the idea that he would be back, he had agreed to leave. He always thought they’d pick right up where they left off, Bucky and Steve together.

Looking at Bucky’s pale face now, Steve knows he never should have left in the first place. He’s too small under the covers, and Steve can’t shake the anxious feeling bubbling up his throat, scared that he will vanish from under his eyes. Where he had always been such a solid presence, Bucky now seemed translucent, some sort of otherworldly creature existing in front of Steve on borrowed time.

He takes Bucky’s limp hand in his own, tracing lines and circles, skirting around the thin bandaged wrists.

Steve’s exhaustion weighs heavy in his bones, but he can’t bring himself to close his eyes.

He needs to protect Bucky now.

He’ll never let him down again.


	4. The Hotel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky have a moment to themselves before trouble comes knocking.

When the Soldier awakes, the first thing he notices is the pain. It’s familiar, burning deep inside him, straining the surface of his skin. A deep seeded ache that never goes away. He’s hungry, but this is also something he’s accustomed with, as with the pounding in his head, the dryness of his mouth.

What comes next, though, is entirely unfamiliar.

He’s in a bed.

A soft one at that, the covers pulled up to his ears.

The Soldier’s heart starts to speed up. He shifts, biting back a whimper as his wounds scream at him to stop moving. Truthfully, he wouldn’t mind sinking back into a dreamless sleep, surrounded by this warm comfort that’s eluded him for so long.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it. Something must be terribly wrong.

This luxury is sure to cost him dearly.

He forces his eyes to blink open. The room is bathed with an early morning glow, but even the soft light stings his eyes. He pushes himself up and freezes.

Now he notices a large figure slumped at his bedside, face buried in thick arms. He’s breathing deeply.

The Soldier shakes, looking around the room for any hints at where he is and who this obvious Alpha could be. The Soldier is not unused to unknown Alphas, but they never mean anything good.

He remembers preparing to meet Brock last night. He hates having his senses deprived, and waiting without being able to see, hear, or smell had been disconcerting. It had also amplified every strike and thrust, which the Soldier supposes was Brock’s intention.

Brock hadn’t been alone last night, had he? The Soldier remembers a different touch, somewhat more gentle than his regular patron. Fragmented memories swirl behind the Soldier’s eyelids, made foggy by the drugs his Master had forced into him after the show. He’d told the Soldier to behave for one of his most trusted customers, though the Soldier wouldn’t dream of doing anything but obey. The punishment was not worth the fleeting feeling of satisfaction that came with momentarily resisting his fate.

The blonde beside him must have been Brock’s guest. Did that mean Brock was around? Why would they leave the club? The Soldier’s confusion grows into a panic. Does his Master know where he is?

The Alpha groans as he shifts, slowly waking. The Soldier is pure tension, though it strains his sore body. He edges himself away carefully, intending to slip out and escape.

He’s about to crawl off the bed when he hears the Alpha’s breathing change. The giant of a man grunts again as he pushes himself up.

“Bucky?” The man says, still half asleep.

Forget caution. Nausea bubbles up the Soldier’s throat as he launches himself out of bed, hitting the ground with a painful thump. Too late, he notices the only exit stands behind the hulking Alpha. Instead, he scrambles himself into a corner, tucked into a tight ball. He holds his trembling arms protectively over his head, holding his breath, eyes squeezed closed.

Bucky was his name once, he knows. Now, it’s a code word for noncompliance. The name has been beaten out of him, and hearing it now, he knows he has somehow royally fucked up.

Usually his Master is the one to punish him, though he does occasionally enjoy introducing new games and players to the equation. He wonders how the massive stranger will teach him his lesson.

“Bucky, it’s okay.” The Alpha’s voice is quiet, soothing. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

They always say that.

The big blonde approaches cautiously, hands splayed in front of him to show he isn’t a threat. He slowly comes down on one knee, bringing him closer to the Soldier’s huddled form.

Now’s his chance.

He knows running will only delay the inevitable, probably even worsen the punishment, but the Soldier is too panicked by this unknown situation to help himself. He pushes himself off the wall, intending to dart around the Alpha and get out the door before the other can react.

He’s sure he would have made it, too, if it wasn’t for the debilitating twinge that shoots up his spine as he lunges forward. All he accomplishes is an undignified stumble, his legs folding under him, weak and unsteady.

Of course, the Alpha catches him.

Knowing better than to resist, the Soldier goes limp. The blonde’s hands are large and warm on his arms. Most surprising is that they hold him gingerly, instead of in the usual bruising grip Bucky’s come to expect of an Alpha’s touch.

“Are you okay?” The strange Alpha’s voice rumbles softly. The Soldier isn’t sure which answer is correct. He shrugs without looking up, keeping his head bowed and submissive, already regretting having the gal to try and run.

“What are you going to do with me?” He whispers, voice cracking. He hears his own fear and winces at how pathetic he sounds.

“I’m going to take care of you. Look at me, Bucky.” The voice is warm and pleading.

The Soldier flinches hard, but obeys the order. He peeks up shyly through lowered lids but pauses when he meets the Alpha’s eyes for the first time.

They’re the blue of a summer sky in the afternoon, of blue jays and clear seas. They’re the most beautiful eyes the Soldier has ever seen, and he’s seen them before. He sees them every night in his dreams. They belong to the person in all the Soldier’s most closely cherished memories. The love of his life, back when he still had a life to call his own.

How could he have not noticed?

“It’s me, Buck.” Tears glisten at the edge of beautiful baby blues.

“Steve.” The Soldier breaths, clutching onto him tightly. “Is it really you?”

“I’m here, I’ve got you.” The Alpha returns the Soldier’s desperate embrace carefully, telegraphing his movements. When he’s sure he won’t trigger another panic attack, he tightens his arms, shielding the Soldier against his chest. The Soldier shudders as he is engulfed in the scent of home, of happiness. He breathes in deeply, trying to infuse his soul with Steve’s essence.

It’s been so long since he felt this way.

Steve is also scenting deeply, holding the Soldier like he is something precious.

The calm content that had washed over the Soldier breaks in an instant. He’s tainting Steve with his presence, beautiful Steve who deserves the world, who Bucky could never hope for a moment to measure up to.

Steve must sense the shift in the Soldier’s mood, because he starts rubbing light circles on his arms. The unfamiliar tender touch serves only to frighten him more, but he can’t help but lean into the affection. He is starved for Steve’s touch, desperate for it, even as he knows he should pull away and disappear, leave Steve to live his life undisturbed by the defect that is the Soldier.

“I’m sorry.” Whispers the Soldier, despite knowing an apology from him doesn’t mean much. He knows he’s hurt Steve in the past, and knows he will only continue to do so if Steve stays near him.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have been here for you.” Steve murmurs, breath tickling his ear.

The sentiment is more than the Soldier could ever earn.

“Not your fault, Stevie. Mine.”

Steve’s response is cut off by a loud gurgle. The Soldier looks up from their embrace, eyes scared as they meet Steve’s.

“Sounds like someone’s hungry.” Steve smiles. It almost seems normal, domestic, except for the seemingly infinite sadness pooling in his eyes. 

The Soldier knows if it wasn’t for him, Steve’s eyes would be full of mirth.

“I don’t have to eat.” He answers lowly. He shouldn’t eat without his Master’s permission, and he doesn’t want to burden Steve any further than he already has.

“Nonsense, I’ll order breakfast from room service. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The Soldier nods after a moment, resigned. He has no right to say no, anyway.

“We have a lot to talk about, but let’s get some food in us first.” They carefully stand, still supporting one another. “Oh, do your bandages need changing?”

For the first time today, the Soldier looks down at himself. He’s surprised to find himself wearing a loose shirt and a pair of boxers. Stranger still are the bandages wrapping around his torso and legs. Some are dotted with dark stains, but there doesn’t seem to be any fresh blood.

“You did this?” The Soldier asks shakily. Usually he has to wrap his own wounds. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. You shouldn’t thank me.” Steve grimaces, distressed. “I hurt you too, after all.” 

So, the big Alpha _had_ accompanied Brock last night. The Solder’s stomach drops, but he tries not to let it show. The Winter Soldier is his job, and he doesn’t have the right to judge his customers.

Not even when they’re the one person the Soldier had never wanted to have to see the truth, to know the fact that he’s good for nothing but sucking cock. The words ring, Pierce’s voice loud in his ears.

“Do you remember anything from last night? You don’t seem too surprised…” Steve says gently. He expected a different reaction, maybe anger, but the hollow look in Bucky’s eyes is much more disquieting.

“It’s what I’m made for, after all.” He whispers after a moment, lowering his eyes when he sees the stricken look in Steve’s.

“Bucky, no.”

The Soldier sighs, still avoiding eye contact.

“You’re worth so much more than that, Buck.”

He closes his eyes tightly, wanting to believe those pretty words.

He knows they’re empty, nothing but lies.

Steve wouldn’t lie to him, would he?

No, Steve wouldn’t lie to _Bucky_.

The Soldier hasn’t been Bucky in a long time.

The growl of an empty stomach breaks the uncomfortable silence, and the Soldier is relieved to hear it’s Steve’s this time, not his.

“Let’s eat first and figure things out after.” Steve quickly orders two servings of the chef’s breakfast.

“I need to go soon.” The Soldier speaks after he’s hung up the phone.

“What? No, no you’re not going back there. You can’t, Buck. You can’t be happy there.”

“He’s going to realize I’m gone soon, and then I’ll be in big trouble.”

“Pierce, right?” Steve’s voice is hard.

The Soldier doesn’t respond, but the fear must be evident in his face. Steve raises his fists, clenched, but immediately aborts the action, dropping his hands. He’s forcefully casual, eyes intense.

“I’m not letting him hurt you anymore. You’re safe with me.”

The Soldier studies the floor. He can’t meet that burning blue for long. It pierces through to his core, and he doesn’t want Steve to see the depths of his depravity.

Then again, maybe Steve’s eyes wouldn’t carry so much hopeful relief, either. If he knew who the Soldier is now, he may give up on the Bucky from before.

That Bucky was a Beta. This one, Omega. Two simple labels, but what a chasm between them. They contrasted too sharply.

Steve was bound to realize that the Soldier was not who he wanted. The Soldier couldn’t give Steve anything of value, unless he wanted another taste of what he’d had last night…

His empty stomach turns. Was that what Steve wanted?

A knock at the door breaks the dragging silence.

“That’ll be breakfast.” The Alpha strides to the entrance, glad for the distraction. 

Steve opens the door a crack, and his blood runs cold. A tall, angular man stands at the door with a serpentine smile. Behind him Rumlow glares, his mocking sneer from the night before absent.

Steve moves to slam the door shut, then shouts as he goes flying backwards, the door slamming inwards. Bucky yelps from somewhere behind him.

“There he is.” The tall man says as he steps over the threshold. Rumlow closes the door behind him.

“Get out.” Steve growls, standing. He keeps his arms outstretched protectively. He has to protect Bucky.

“Not without what we came for. Come here, bitch.” Rumlow is darkly serious, his sardonic sense of humor apparently knocked out of him last night, if the bluing bruise on his temple is anything to go by.

Steve hears Bucky scuffling behind him. “Don’t listen to that prick, Buck. You’re not going anywhere. Quick, call the police.” His voice is rough with urgency.

The tall man laughs, reaching into his suit jacket. Steve tenses. A weapon?

“The cops won’t do you any good.” The man speaks with a stilted German accent. He flips open the badge he pulls from his pocket, the words ‘Johann Schmidt, Chief of Police’ standing out like a beacon.

“Now, slut. Time to stop causing problems.” Rumlow snaps. “Get over here before this gets any worse than it needs to be.”

Steve bristles, anger pulsing through his blood.

“Alpha, I should go.” A light touch brushes against Steve’s straining shoulder.

The need to protect Bucky is too strong. His instincts are torn between destroying the two intruders and wrapping his Omega in his arms.

“I can’t let you go, Buck.”

“If you come now, we won’t even tell Pierce about your little stunt. You still need to be punished, but it won’t have to be as harsh. Unless you keep up this defiant act, that is.” The German’s voice is deceptively sweet.

“Let the Omega go. You don’t need trash like that in your life. You can just forget this whole thing even happened.” Rumlow says to Steve.

“As if I could ever do that.”

“He’s right, Stevie.” Bucky’s says softly. “You have so much going for you. Don’t let me bring you down.”

“God, Buck, you could only lift me higher. I need you. You can’t go back there!”

“I belong there, Steve. You don’t really need me. This is my life now.”

Steve grasps Bucky’s arms, panicked, as the Omega tries to take a step towards the door.

“Is that really what you want to do? The way you want to be?” He’s desperate, knows he’s gripping too tight but unable to let go.

Bucky lowers his eyes. “It’s the way I am. I don’t want things. I just do what I’m told.”

In the background, Rumlow barks a laugh. “Doesn’t he ever.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way! Where’s the Bucky I knew? The one who stands up for what he believes. I know he’s still in there somewhere!”

“He’s dead, Steve. All that’s left is me. I’m a mess, and you can do so much better. Go back to where you came from, marry Peggy and have three kids. You’ll be happy.” His voice drops lower. “I can’t make you happy, Stevie.”

The bitter longing in Bucky’s eyes is almost palpable.

“Just being with you is happiness to me, Buck. I know you don’t really mean what you’re saying. I’m going to get us out of here, and you’ll never have to do anything against your will ever again.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option.” Drawls the police chief. “Time to go, Soldier.”

The chief takes a step forward, and the room explodes with motion. Steve shoves Bucky backwards and assumes a fighting stance, looking larger than ever as his muscles bulge.

He will protect his Omega.

His Bucky.

Schmidt and Rumlow advance at once, flanking each of Steve’s sides. They’re fast, but Steve has single-minded desperation fueled by unbridled rage on his side. He is an Alpha defending what is his, and this need consumes him.

With one sharp sweep, Steve kicks the legs out from under the police chief. He falls and Steve turns to Rumlow. He barrels against him, knocking his shoulder hard.

“Bucky, grab that bag! Let’s go!” Steve yells.

Rumlow recovers from his stagger, throwing himself at the defensive Alpha with his fists raised. Steve steps deftly out of the way, and Rumlow crashes onto Schmidt.

Steve grabs the nearest piece of furniture and throws it on their impromptu dog pile. Beating these two brutes is not his priority. First and foremost, he needs to get his Omega to safety.

Bucky had met Steve’s command without hesitation, taking Steve’s bag. He stands rigid, clutching the backpack. His wide eyes are filled with fear, but he looks at Steve with an unwavering trust.

Steve’s returning gaze is intense, trying to transmit his urgency. Without words, he holds his hand out to Bucky.

Bucky takes a tentative step towards him, then makes the face like an ice cube was just dropped down the back of his shirt. He dives forward, arms reaching past Steve’s outstretched hand, shoving himself against Steve’s side.

The Omega weighs barely anything, but the force of his momentum knocks Steve off balance. Just centimeters from his left ear, the back of a chair comes crashing down. It clips his shoulder, but the brunt force of it is absorbed by Bucky’s head with a squishy crunch. Bucky drops like a rock.

“Shit, not the face. Pierce is going to fucking kill me.” Rumlow swears.

Steve ignores the searing pain in his deltoid. He catches Bucky’s fall and curls him to his chest, holds his bloodied face tucked inwards. His hand cradles the back of Bucky’s head, arm supporting his back. The other arm he holds out at the ready. He glares fiercely at the two intruders.

Rumlow’s lost his composure. His expression is reminiscent of their childhood, the frenzied mix of disbelief and frustration he’d make every time Bucky would back Steve in a fight.

Schmidt stands closer to them, heaving for breath. 

“Give him to me.” He demands, raising his hand to his hip.

“Never.” Still holding Bucky, Steve reaches and disarms Schmidt before he can fully wield the silenced officer’s pistol. It clatters to the ground. Schmidt is quick to punch Steve in the jaw. His head whips back at the force of it, and Bucky clatters from his arms.

Barely having touched the ground, Steve jumps back up. He sees Rumlow tugging Bucky up by the arm. Focused as he is on the scene, he doesn’t see Schmidt’s fist coming until it obstructs his vision.

A muffled shot rings through the room, and the punch never lands. With a strangled shout the police chief drops, red blooming at his thigh.

The gun clatters from Bucky’s trembling hands. Rumlow holds him upright, fist knotted in the collar of his oversized shirt. Steve’s shirt.

“Bucky!”

There’s a knife at his throat, pressing lightly at the thin flesh. Bucky is dazed, irises wobbling, mouth slack. His face is swollen, red and purple blotches where the chair hit him.

Rumlow takes a step back towards the door.

At his feet, Schmidt’s bloodied hand takes his ankle, digging his fingers down hard. Steve yanks his leg free and steps down hard on the hand, then brings his foot up to kick the German’s head.

Paying no further attention to the slumped body, Steve grabs the gun from the floor.

Rumlow’s almost out the door. A small streak of blood trickles down Bucky’s neck, the tip of the blade nicking slightly.

Bucky is being held in front of Rumlow like a shield. Steve won’t risk shooting him. He advances, matching Rumlow’s pace, pointing the gun’s muzzle to the floor.

Rumlow’s grinning again, cocky. He’s still facing Steve when he lowers the hand holding the knife. Not letting go of Bucky’s collar, he reaches back for the doorknob.

Steve’s at all the wrong angles, and any shot he takes is liable to hurt Bucky. The knife isn’t at Bucky’s neck anymore, but Rumlow still has the advantage.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s growling, fierce and possessive and so desperate.

He can’t let Bucky slip through his fingers, not again.

Rumlow’s hand closes around the knob when Bucky comes to life, snapping out of his haze. For a moment, he catches Steve’s eyes, and the Alpha’s breath catches at the determination he sees there, brilliant and achingly evocative of times past.

Then, Rumlow is shouting, dropping the knife. Bucky has his teeth embedded in the hand that was at his collar. Rumlow shakes it, trying to get the Omega to let go, but his jaw just squeezes tighter.

Bucky doubles over as Rumlow’s fist pummels into his stomach, crying out with a bloody mouth.

With Bucky momentarily out off harms way, Steve takes aim and shoots. Rumlow’s furious eyes darken as he grabs his own abdomen, panting hard. He presses down where his shirt is quickly staining, blood seeping through his fingers to join the rivulets spilling from the indentations left by Bucky’s teeth.

“You bastard!” He gasps, taking a shaky step towards Steve. His leg buckles and he falls, managing to catch himself on his hands and knees. He glares up at Steve.

“He’ll never be yours.” He bites the words out before his eyes roll back. He sinks to the floor, but Steve is already moving past him.

Bucky has pulled himself up. He stands leaning on the wall, gaze fixed on the two bloodied men lying prone on the ground. When he looks back up into Steve’s eyes, the determination from before is absent, replaced with a dawning horror.

“Let’s go, Buck.” Steve whispers, quiet words that seem to fill the eerily silent room.

All he gets in response is a mute nod. It’s more than enough.

Steve picks up his backpack, which had been discarded in the scuffle. He swings it over his shoulder, then approaches Bucky, whose small figure is still hunched by the door.

He holds his arms up and Bucky allows himself to sag into his embrace. Steve doesn’t want to let go, but they need to get away before Rumlow and the chief wake, or before someone else shows up.

“Room service!” A cheerful voice rings out. “Your breakfast is ready!”

They freeze, hear only the blood pounding in their ears.

“Uh, we decided to eat out instead. Sorry for the trouble.” Steve answers after a beat, voice a pitch or two higher than usual.

Their hearts beat erratically. On the floor, Schmidt groans.

“If you need anything else just give us a call.” The woman responds from outside the room, decidedly more coldly than before. Steve doesn’t have it in him to feel guilty.

As her footsteps fade away, Steve realizes the vice-like grip he has on Bucky’s shoulders. He loosens his hold and soothes the skin there with his thumb.

“Can we go now?” Bucky’s voice is barely a murmur, as if he doesn’t dare hope that they could actually make it out. He sounds tired, as if freedom is dangling close but will be torn away again the moment he tries to taste it.

“We have to move quickly. Don’t let go of my hand.” Steve says, enveloping Bucky’s hand with his.

“Where are we going?” Bucky squeezes back, palm clammy.

“Away.” He’ll figure it out. They can’t stay in this town. The best course of action would be to put miles of distance between them and Pierce.

It dawns on him as Schmidt releases another strained groan.

“To my apartment. In DC.”

Bucky’s brow furrows, his full lips turned in a pensive pout. Steve’s sure Bucky has never left this place, this slumbering town hiding its dark secrets, but he knows it’s the best course of action. The further they can get, the better.

They can leave these twisted memories behind, Steve thinks to himself, but knows it won’t be so easy to erase whatever hell Bucky has lived through. Such experiences are not forgotten, only coped with and, hopefully, overcome in time.

Will time heal Bucky?

It has to, and even if it doesn’t, Steve will stand by him.

‘Til the end.


	5. The Getaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They make it out of town with a moment to think, remember, and rest

Escaping the hotel goes suspiciously smoothly.

Hands tightly clasped, Steve and Bucky exercise stealth as they maneuver themselves out of the room. They keep close to the walls and peek around corners, passing only when the coast is clear. A concierge rounds the corner, so Steve drags Bucky into the women’s washroom, ducking out of sight.

While they’re there, Steve realizes Bucky’s still just wearing his sleep shirt and boxers. He pulls out a pair of sweatpants and hands them over. Like the shirt they hang baggy off Bucky’s frame, but with the drawstring pulled tight they do the trick. Almost fumbling, Steve washes Bucky’s bloodied face. Despite Bucky’s hushed protest, he rips another of his shirts as a makeshift bandage, winding it around his head.

Besides this incident, it’s early enough that there aren’t many other people lurking in the corridors. They manage to slip out of the hotel without drawing any attention to themselves. Thankfully, Steve already paid for the room in full last night, so they aren’t exactly committing a crime. Well, except for leaving two unconscious bodies in the room, of course, but those monsters definitely had it coming.

The crisp morning air revitalizes them both. Bucky gulps it down with a quenchless thirst, as if each breath will be his last. Steve leads the way, pulling Bucky close beside him.

“I don’t want to leave too much of a paper trail. Let’s go get cash from the bank, then we’ll be on the first train or plane out of here.”

“I don’t have any money.” Bucky flushes with shame. “No passport either.”

“That’s okay, Buck. Nothing is going to stop us now.”

They walk fast, pressed together with their faces down. Steve is vigilant, eyes darting at every group of people they pass. Pierce’s goons won’t take them by surprise a second time.

“How’d they find us before?” Steve wonders out loud. Bucky peeks at him with glazed eyes. One of his hands comes up and brushes against his bare neck.

“Tracker. In my collar.”

Another spike of anger shoots through Steve, but he swallows it down. He needs to be as clear-minded as possible for now. Once they’re safe he can let himself feel the barrage, but at the moment he can’t lose himself in any emotional instinct besides the need to get away, protect his Omega.

The closest bank isn’t the one Steve uses, but he pays the extra fee to save time. He’s accumulated a fair amount of savings with his thankfully well-paid internship at Stark Industries, and takes out his daily maximum. It's dangerous to carry around this much cash, but they move quickly.

Without a passport, they can’t take a plane, which would be the fastest route. Instead, they hop on a bus, taking it to the train station a city over. As Steve watches their hometown diminish out the back window, a hint of relief eases the tension in his jaw, though his back remains attentively straight.

At his side, Bucky leans into Steve. He keeps his gaze on the floor and avoids looking at anyone else. He doesn’t even look out the window. Instead of relief, with each mile Bucky seems to grow more despondent, eyes blank and hollow. It terrifies Steve.

He tries to break through Bucky’s dissociative defense.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Buck. You’ll love our apartment. I have a roommate, but I’ll bet you’ll like him too. Sam’s a good guy. He’ll probably even give us time to settle in, just you and me. I know everything seems scary right now, overwhelming for sure, but we’re going to make it.”

Bucky nods in silence, sucking on his thick lower lip.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” He murmurs so quietly Steve strains to hear him.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything in my entire life.” Steve’s answer is immediate. “I’m not turning back now.” His voice drops lower, deeper. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, Buck. I’m here now, and I’m not leaving you again. I’ve always been yours.”

Bucky searches his eyes, finds only earnest assurance.

“I was yours too, Steve.” Bucky whispers. “But, that was before. I’ve been… everyone else’s.”

The clenching in Steve’s chest is painful, squeezing his heart and making it hard to breath.

Bucky continues, “It’s okay if you realize you don’t really want me. I know I’ve changed a lot, and I won’t blame you. I can survive, I don’t need you to be my keeper.”

“Bucky, listen to me.” He takes Bucky by the shoulders, turning them face to face. The bus jumps, but Steve pays no mind, standing steady.

“I don’t care what they did to you.” A sick expression comes over him and he quickly takes it back. “No, I do care, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. We said we’d be together until the end of the line, right? No matter what?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Steve waits until Bucky nods slightly. “Right. I’ve changed too, you know. But one thing will never change, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to. I’m with you, Buck. You can’t get rid of me. I’m not going anywhere, not without you.”

Bucky releases the barest of sighs, but doesn’t move. The bus hits a bump and they stumble, Bucky knocked forward into Steve. He catches him easily and holds on, arms encircled around his waist.

“See? I’ve got you.” He smiles into his ear, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth curls up slightly. Steve can see the effect that his scent has on the other man, calming him.

Bucky’s scent is still tinged with fear, almost sulfuric with having lived under constant threat, but it’s lighter now, not as thick as when they’d first woke up this morning. They always had been at their most comfortable when they were together.

When they pull into the station, they waste no time in buying their tickets.

“Round trip, or one way?” The teller asks, drawling lazily.

“One way. The soonest train.”

“Well sir, there’s one in three minutes, you might be able to get on it if you move fast enough. If not, it’ll be another two hours until the next.”

They’re running before the teller has finished her sentence, sweaty hands entwined. They barely make it, both gasping for air as they rush through the train doors. It’s full, and they need to walk down its length before they find a booth with two free seats.

Collapsing, they pant, paying no mind to the other people around them. Steve leans back, letting his head fall against the headrest. He looks over at Bucky. A strand of hair hangs in front of his face and Steve reaches up to tuck it away.

Bucky flinches, hard. In his effort to get away from the approaching hand, he knocks his already bruised head against the window. The bang sounds like it hurts, but there isn’t any fresh blood.

“Shit, Buck!”

Bucky groans, holding his forehead. He rubs down his face and freezes, suddenly squeamish, at the rough texture of the bandage against his cheek.

“Oh no, not my face…”

It’s like he’s realized he’s bandaged for the first time all over again, as if he hadn’t been aware of their earlier scene in the hotel bathroom.

“It’ll heal, don’t worry. We’ll look after it properly once we get home.”

His words don’t comfort Bucky. “No, you don’t understand. If he sees this he’s going to be _pissed_. He’s the only one allowed to hit my face…”

Steve grimaces, pushes down the urge to vomit. He hasn’t had a weak stomach in years, but these two days have been one nightmare after another. Despite his optimism, he knows the nightmares haven’t stopped yet, won’t be over even once they’re safe in Steve’s territory, far from the root of the cause.

Still, every step helps.

“Then it’s a good thing he won’t see, because if I ever see him, it’ll be the last day he lives. No one, Buck, no one is allowed to hit you. Okay?” Steve says, firmly serious.

Bucky looks like he wants to answer, but closes his eyes in resignation instead.

“Okay, Stevie.”

He doesn’t sound like he believes him, but it’s not the place for this conversation.

“Let’s get some rest. We’ll be there in a few hours, perfect time for a snooze.”

Bucky nods at his suggestion and leans back against the window, eyes shut all the while. They haven’t been awake for long, but the adrenaline is wearing off, the rush of the morning catching up.

Steve doesn’t go to sleep. He looks out the window, but all he really sees is Bucky’s slack face, purpled around his left cheek and eye socket. He watches him, follows the rise and fall of his chest, traces dark tresses, longer than he’s ever seen on Bucky, falling in waves to his chin. Bandages peak out from under his clothes, and a memory flashes behind Steve’s lids.

The Soldier, shuddering beneath him, whip snapping red.

No. He blinks hard, banishing the image.

Instead, he follows the slope of Bucky’s jaw and thinks back to the years when he saw his face every day.

They’d lived together for years, in their small one room apartment. They had been happy, despite their troubles. Life had been good, and then Steve had left.

Why had he gone?

His absence had allowed this to happen to Bucky. He hadn’t been there for the hardest struggle of his life, while Bucky had supported him through his. He let him down, and Steve was going to do everything in his power to lift him back up again.

He remembers Bucky’s bittersweet smile when Steve had waved goodbye, all those years ago. He had encouraged Steve to leave, to follow his dreams. He couldn’t have known that it would mean going through hell alone for himself.

Bucky had always been selfishly selfless, giving all of himself even if there wasn’t much left to give.

Looking at his weary body now, Steve can see he never stopped giving parts of himself away. He wants to gather up his tired bones and bundle them tight in his grasp, hold him like Bucky used to hold Steve, back when his body was sick and falling apart.

The memories are bright in his mind. They’d survived though the hardship of Steve’s illness and the heartbreaking loss of his mother. Living as roommates hadn’t changed much about their dynamic, since they were already so used to being together. Theirs was an easy intimacy, their banter jaunty but lighthearted, days filled with sassy smirks and fond quips.

They started high school not long after settling into their apartment. While recovering, Steve had managed to scrape by and graduate with the rest of his junior high class, an accomplishment which he knows he owes largely to Bucky. He had sat by Steve’s bedside afterschool and recounted the day’s lesson. If Steve was well enough, they’d do their homework together. They had grumbled throughout it, as though the work was some great ordeal, but really it had been a fun time.

He has a photo from their graduation, tucked into a fold in his wallet. In it, Steve stands beaming between Bucky and his mother. Bucky’s signature grin is softer, caught in the moment instead of forced for the camera. Sarah’s smile is beautiful, her eyes shining with pride. The photo was taken just before her health took a nose dive for the worse, her cheeks flushed a healthy pink.

Steve is thankful that his mother had been able to see him graduate, even if it was only junior high. He was able to show her that he was strong now, that after everything he was okay. He was getting better all the time, his immune system strengthening as he grew steadily. In the photo, Steve and Bucky stand at the same height, only a few bare centimeters separating them.

By the time they move in together, Steve has already surpassed these and more, shooting up inches at a time. Bucky took to calling him a beanstalk, joked that he grew like a weed when it seemed he was outgrowing his clothes every other week.

Bucky hadn’t grown much during that period. He had hit his growth spurt earlier in elementary, shooting up above the other kids. That seemed to be his peak, the rest of his maturity coming slowly. His face retained a boyish charm that didn’t serve to help matters, but as time passed his smooth jaw became more defined, sculpted from the slope of his round cheek. Bucky could only be described as beautiful, with his steel blue eyes framed by think lashes and plump lips turned in either a smirk or a pout. People were naturally drawn to Bucky’s aura, and Steve was proud to call him his best friend.

Steve himself grew gangly before he filled out. He had always been small, unhealthily so at the worst of his sickness, so to start stretching out and towering above others was somewhat bewildering. His appetite had steadily increased until it took nearly double what Bucky would eat to satisfy him. This put a strain on their grocery budget for a while before they’d switched to buying in bulk. With his body strong enough to endure more strenuous activities, Steve made a hobby of pushing his limits, running and lifting weights on alternate days. It wasn’t long before he put on weight, most of it muscular, though at the time he was still far from ripped.

His face had always been bony and square. Now, the jut of his chin and cheekbones didn’t seem out of place. He grew into his features, and though Steve still thought he looked rather goofy, he could also see that he might not be the ugliest duckling around.

These suspicions were confirmed upon returning to school. Steve wasn’t prepared for the way people looked at him, like he was a completely different person just because he grew a bit taller. Okay, a lot taller, he had thought, looking down at the top of Bucky’s head, but still.

Bucky was the only one who didn’t change the way he acted around him. He still joked with Steve and stood by his side, prepared to back him up in whatever scuffle Steve attracted next. Thing is, a lot of bullies didn’t want to mess with someone bigger than themselves. They prefer picking on the small fry, and Steve was no longer that guy.

Brock Rumlow was one such bully. He still harassed Steve and Bucky in the hallways, but he didn’t step into Steve’s personal space like he used to. Instead, he stepped into Bucky’s, who usually wouldn’t get involved until things started getting ugly. When Steve rushed to get Rumlow away, he wondered if this is how his friend had always felt, a frantic protectiveness to keep the other away from any possible harm.

“Don’t worry about me, Stevie. I can hold my own and you know it.” Bucky would clap his shoulder. “Don’t pay any attention to what Brock or his cronies say. You know it’s all bravado anyway.”

Aside from the bullies, the girls at school also changed their opinion of Steve. They hadn’t even acknowledged his existence in the past, but now they spoke to him as if they’d always been friends, looked at him like they wanted to devour him.

By his side, Bucky only gave him a small smile. People had always flocked around him, and nothing had changed for him. He was generally well-liked and could get away with his flirtatious sense of humor with girls and boys alike. Steve himself was much less comfortable to have the spotlight on him, and he was glad that he could rely on Bucky for a sense of normalcy.

Though Bucky was his best friend, they did have a group of others that they would sit with. Dugan, Morita, Jacques, and Peggy were their good buddies. The boys called themselves the Howlies, named after the soccer team they played for, and they were all a gas to be around. Peggy especially had helped Steve and Bucky through a lot in the years they’d known her. She considered herself their big sister, though she was younger than they were by a few months. Peggy was a strong young woman whose feisty personality reminded Steve of Bucky in many ways. She didn’t put up with any nonsense.

After school was let out, Bucky would go straight down to the docks to clock in until mid evening. On the weekends he worked all day long, and Steve was sure he was pushing himself too hard. Buck always seemed tired and never had enough time to complete his homework properly. Too often, Steve would help him scribble out the answers during their morning rush.

Bucky wouldn’t hear of it when Steve asked him to work less.

“We’ve got bills to pay, Stevie, and you ought to focus on your schooling. I know you’ve got big dreams.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden alone. Let’s be real, I don’t make enough off commissions to cover even one of our expenses. I’m healthy now, bigger, I can take on some responsibility. You told me I didn’t have to handle this alone; well, Buck, neither do you.”

Bucky was reluctant, but he ultimately agreed that Steve could carry some of his own weight. Steve found a little part time gig at the local food court. It wasn’t glamorous and sometimes he thought he’d go crazy, but it was worth it to see Buck relax just a little bit. Steve felt useful to Bucky for once, as usually Steve was the one to receive all the support.

Everything was going well for them, which was exactly the right time for something unusual to happen. They had settled into a comfortable routine, waking up, going to school then work, seeing friends and doing homework before starting the whole cycle over again. Though they were young, life required they develop their diligence, and both Steve and Bucky worked hard to keep their small makeshift family afloat.

They were managing their live together, content and secure, which was precisely when Steve’s body had determined it was time to present.

Steve hadn’t expected the presentation to be quite as intense as it was. Guidance from their teachers and parents hadn’t prepared them for the full intensity of a hormonal awakening, and when Steve’s body decided it was time to mature he was caught completely off-guard.

It was late at night. Both boys were in their beds, a dim light on the nightstand between their mattresses illuminating the room just enough for Bucky to read while Steve idly sketched his friend. Their shared bedroom was small but cozy, the rhythmic pounding of rain on the roof making it all the more so.

Bucky turns the page of his book, and the sound ripped through the air like a knife at Steve’s ear drums. He flinched, abdomen tensing up, and snapped the lead of his pencil on his drawing, splitting Bucky’s unfinished profile with a jagged line.

“Steve, what happened? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s worried face is closer now. Steve squeezed his eyes shut, clutching at his head. He bit his lips hard, but it didn’t quiet his low groan. His head pounded, arteries pumping too fast. It was like his blood has turned to quicksilver, setting his nervous system aflame.

It had been cold a moment ago, but now everything was too hot. Steve’s skin burned to the touch, but he felt nothing in his extremities. The pressure was focused on one point, slithering down deep in his stomach. He felt his pants tighten, and he knows.

Steve released a strangled yell, and Bucky was touching him, feeling his flushed forehead.

“Steve, I think you’re-“

“I’m presenting.” He growled out. “This isn’t normal sickness.”

“But it is normal, Stevie. Don’t worry. I know you’re scared, but everything’s going to be okay.”

“I’m going to be an Omega, aren’t I? Everyone always told me so, small as I was.” The heat in his pants was growing more intense. Steve dug his hands into the sheets, every muscle tensed.

“Who knows, you’ve grown a lot these past few months after all. No matter what you are, you’ll still be Steve Rogers, and I’ll be by your side.” Bucky assured him, eyes determined. The hand he’d placed on Steve’s shoulder is smoldering.

An urge to grab Bucky and hold him tight startled Steve. He jerked his body away from Bucky’s touch, immediately regretting the hurt expression that flit across his friend’s features.

“Let me get you some things, then I can leave you alone if you’d prefer more privacy.” Bucky fled the room before Steve could say a word.

He tried to think back on their lessons about secondary genders. Omegas presented by going into their first heat, flooded with hormones that make them want to be taken. Alphas went into rut instead, driven to dominate and fuck. The flush of Steve’s skin made him think ‘heat’, but he didn’t want to be held.

He wanted to hold Bucky down and thrust against him with everything he has. He wanted to show Bucky how strong he’s become, wanted to make him scream in pleasure.

Steve gasped, shaking his head, but his thoughts were only getting more muddled. The smells around him became stronger, and the scent of Bucky’s laundry was making him dizzy with arousal. Had Bucky always smelled so good? Had everything always had such a prominent scent?

Alphas and Omegas both had more attuned noses than their Beta counterparts. Steve shuddered, his dick rock solid between his legs, impossibly big. The head is turning red, and Steve never needed to cum so badly in his life. He’d never felt this horny before. He needed to fuck.

There was a tentative knock on his door, and then Bucky was back, carrying a tray of provisions. The snacks were bland and packaged, and he’d prepared three bottles of water. He also had what looked to be a wet wash cloth.

“How you doing, Stevie?” His voice was soft, gentle, and a burst of affection shot through Steve’s heart.

He didn’t answer, only stared at Bucky with bright, intense eyes. In person, Bucky smelled even better. Like home and happiness.

A low growl filled the room, and it took Steve a moment to realize it was coming from his own throat.

“I can leave, Steve, I’m sorry. Here, I’ll just put this down-“

“No! Stay. Please.” His voice was husky, rough. Steve swallowed hard.

“Take this, it’ll help.” Bucky handed over a bottle. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way Bucky’s fingers curled around it, how his wrist suddenly looked like it could be so easily snapped. He snatched the bottle and gulped it down almost ferociously, spilling streams down his chin.

Bucky moved closer, sitting on his own bed. Steve was shaking on his. Everything was so overwhelming.

“So hot.” He growled out, palming himself through his boxers.

“I don’t think you’re going into heat.” Bucky’s voice dropped lower. “You’re an Alpha, Steve.” He said with awe, but factually, as if it was true all along. He wasn’t surprised.

Steve’s only response was a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. He fisted his cock hard, jerking it, but the meager contact of his hand was far from enough. His touch was so unsatisfying.

Frustrated tears gathered, but they didn’t fall, distorting his vision. His skin, nose, eyes, they were all too sensitive. His ears pounded with blood and the sound of Bucky breathing, quickened with worry. Everything was too much. Steve needed to release.

He groaned again, and Bucky was by his side, dabbing at his forehead with the damp cloth. It was a familiar feeling, an act that Bucky had performed countless times before when Steve was sick in bed, and the cool comfort was like an oasis in the desert.

He felt Bucky’s presence near him, felt his warmth. He needed him.

Without thinking, Steve grabbed Bucky’s waist, fingers curled in a bruising grip. Bucky cried out, dropping the cloth, as Steve dragged him down. He flipped them over, holding Bucky face down onto his bed, one hand just above his hip, the other pressing down on his shoulder, immobilizing him.

The image in front of him, of Bucky in his sleep clothes, helpless beneath Steve, sent a pulse of hot pleasure down Steve’s length. The throbbing in his body increased, the pressure impossible to contain.

Bucky tried to push himself up onto his elbows, twisting back to look at Steve, but Steve held him down. There was a newfound strength in his muscles that wasn’t there before, and his biceps bulged. He was growling, but then he realized that Bucky’s body was humming in response, saying words he’d been too distracted to hear.

“-evie, Steve, please, listen to me!” He was panicked, voice muffled against the pillow. Steve felt his friend shaking between his legs, and horror dawned.

He was violating Bucky, right now. He was hurting him.

Steve scrambled back, falling off the bed. He didn’t feel the impact, shuddering instead at his body and the hormones raging inside him.

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Bucky’s voice was breathless but soothing. Steve looked up with wild eyes.

Bucky was sitting up, leaning towards Steve with his hands outstretched, and had they always been so small? His expression was open and gentle, and Steve felt dirty. Undeserving. Has Bucky even realized what could have just happened? What if Steve had lost control completely?

“Steve, stop. Don’t blame yourself. This is normal, okay? I’m okay.”

“Leave.” He bit out, harsh. He couldn’t hurt him. Not Bucky. 

Bucky was quiet for a moment, coolly contemplating Steve’s frenzied face.

“No.” He finally enunciated, clear and deliberate. The way his lips formed the word had Steve’s mouth going dry. He shamelessly tightened his grip on his member, giving it a tug.

“You don’t want to be here for this, Buck.”

“I’ve seen you jerk off before, punk.” Steve reddened at this, because he thought he’d been so stealthy with taking care of his needs. “Come off it, Steve.”

“I might hurt you.”

“You’d never hurt me.” Bucky’s response was immediate, the trust plain in his face. He was still sitting on Steve’s bed, unwittingly letting his scent sink into the sheets. He looked vulnerable, wearing only boxers and a frayed tank top.

Another wave of desire swept over Steve. He crouched into himself, panting hard as he jerked himself faster. The friction was almost too much, chafing the skin, but it was so far from enough. There was no relief in his desperate ministrations.

“Steve. Come here.”

He’s in front of Bucky in a minute, sweeping the covers haphazardly off the bed. Bucky was looking up at him so seriously, Steve had to consciously force his arm to stop pumping at his groin. He leveled Bucky with his own powerful stare.

“I can help you.” Bucky finally said. Slowly, he scooted closer to Steve. “If you want me to.”

“Bucky-“

“Let me suck your dick?” Bucky asked, an image of innocence with his wide eyes, smiling uncertainly.

Steve’s already muddled brain short-circuited. Had Bucky really just offered…?

Deep in his core, he felt a possessive coil of desire. He wanted this. He wanted Bucky so badly.

He had half a mind to grab Bucky and yank his head down, but he held himself back. Instead, a shaking hand reached out and caressed Bucky’s face. He dragged his thumb over the apples of his cheeks, ran it across his bottom lip. Bucky didn’t break eye contact with him once. Steve leaned in closer.

Bucky closed the distance between them, planting his lips lightly on Steve’s. The kiss was brief, but to Steve it is an explosive force. The floodgates were open, and Steve clutched Bucky with desperation. He was licking Bucky’s lips, biting them, forcing his tongue in. Bucky didn’t resist, opening his mouth, welcoming Steve’s attention. He stroked Steve’s hair, rubbed his wide shoulders. Steve felt intoxicated with Bucky’s essence.

He thrusted himself against Bucky like a dog, humping clumsily. Bucky laughed, breathless, pushing against Steve’s chest. Steve is stronger, but he followed Bucky’s lead, lying back. Bucky hovered over him.

“Are you sure about this?” Bucky whispered.

“As I've ever been. Are you?”

Bucky nodded, sinking down to Steve’s straining crotch. He freed his truly beautiful dick, thick and proud, precum beading at the tip. Bucky looked comical, eyes almost crossed, as he took in the long, slightly curved girth. Steve’s hand came down, pumped it, but then Bucky pushed his hand away. With a devilish smirk, he licked up Steve’s length and closed his mouth around the swollen head.

Steve gasped, seeing stars, then grunted as Bucky sucked hard, bobbing his head. His tongue swirled round, and Steve was losing himself in the wet heat.

“Bucky-!” He groaned. Bucky hummed, and the vibrations sent tingles up Steve’s spine. He was rocking his hips, meeting Bucky’s rhythm. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but it felt so wholly right. Buck’s reddened lips made an obscene sound as he popped them off Steve’s cock, looking up through his lashes. His eyes were glazed.

Steve growled at Bucky’s debauched image. Bucky’s mouth opened and Steve thrust himself in, forcing his dick in deep. Bucky gagged, the cock penetrating his throat, and Steve couldn’t hold back a moan as the walls of his throat seize around him. He grabbed Bucky's head, grasping his silky hair and fucked his face, unable to control the rutting of his hips. Bucky sounded like he was choking but he kept his mouth wide, tongue grazing against Steve’s head with every thrust.

Steve saw white, climaxing hard as he released a huge load down Bucky’s throat. He pulled out as he came, thick trails of sperm spilling around Bucky’s swollen lips, dribbling across his jaw. Bucky collapsed onto him, breathing hard. His eyes were closed, tears gathered at their corners. They streamed down his cheeks, and he looked wrecked.

Steve’s cock didn’t soften. If anything, it grew harder. Steve knew that, soon, a fat knot would form at the base of it. Regardless, he didn’t touch it, though it still demanded attention. Instead, shaking hands brushed Bucky’s bangs aside.

“Oh no, oh fuck, Buck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Steve rambled, hating himself for brutally fucking his friend’s face. He found the wash cloth and used it to wipe away the cum and tears, heart pounding all the while.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice was raw. “Calm down.”

“I hurt you-“

“I’m okay. It was intense, but I’m okay. Are you feeling better?”

“No. Yes. No, I’m still…”

“Yeah, Stevie. Your first rut, remember? You’ll stay hard until you knot, that’s what they taught us. Sometimes it takes a few tries.”

“I’m not doing that to you again.” Steve felt sick just thinking about it. He had completely disregarded Bucky, used his mouth for his own pleasure.

“Well, maybe you can try something else?” Bucky pushed himself to his knees, turning around. He looked at Steve invitingly over his shoulder.

“I can’t fuck you, Buck. We can’t lose our virginities like this” Steve managed to say, words caught in his throat. He’d always pictured something romantic, filled with love. Not this red-hot lust.

“My thighs. You can use them.” Bucky replied, leaning forward onto his hands and knees, presenting his round ass, still clad in plaid boxers, and his soft thighs.

Steve’s resolve shattered. His hands were on Bucky’s bottom in an instant, squeezing the flesh there. He trailed his hands along Bucky’s flanks, and Bucky shuddered at the sensation. Something inside Steve rejoiced, proud to make Bucky feel good as well.

He knelt behind Bucky, his crotch level with Bucky’s bent hips. He ran his fingers up and down Bucky’s sides, then dipped them low to squeeze at his thighs. His friend bucked hard, pushing his ass back against Steve’s throbbing erection, and Steve didn’t even try to hold back the strangled sound of pleasure that escaped him.

He pushed his raging erection between the meat of Bucky’s thighs. It was tight, and though it wasn’t wet like the blow job was, it felt utterly right. He thrusted hard and watched Bucky’s skin clap at the impact, felt his dick slide along Buck’s clothed balls. He should have been embarrassed, but the pleasure was far too consuming.

Bucky gasped underneath him, riding Steve’s thrusts like a champ. Steve loved the feeling of Bucky’s skin, dampened with sweat. He rolled his hands up the fronts of Bucky’s thighs, closed a hand around his smaller but by no means unimpressive penis. He was hard, and though Steve had never touched another man’s junk before, he stroked Bucky with confidence.

They were both grunting now, Bucky’s moans breathy while Steve’s were a low rumble. They moved as one, a give and take of perfect proportions. Steve had never felt so good.

Their tempo increased steadily. Bucky released a high-pitched whine as he spurted thick ropes, and it sent Steve over the edge. He groaned, pulling Bucky tight against him as he followed suit, his semen splattering with Bucky’s on Steve’s bedsheets.

They collapsed, panting hard, Steve pining Bucky to the bed. Their bodies were flush, Steve’s chest to Buck’s shoulders. Bucky’s stomach smeared against the cum, and he squirmed in discomfort, but Steve didn’t budge. It took some time before they caught their breath, and then Steve felt it.

Between his legs, pressed against Bucky’s ass, his cock grew impossibly harder. Steve gasped as he felt the base expand, pushing its way between the two of them. Bucky noticed a beat after Steve did.

“Are you knotting?” His voice was breathless and distant. He looked back at Steve with soft glazed eyes, and something warm tugged at Steve’s heart.

“Yeah. It feels… full. Hard to describe.”

“Felt good?”

“Yeah, Buck. So good.” Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He hummed in contentment.

They lay in silence, the thick knot pulsing between them.

Steve finally spoke, his soft tone loud in the quiet room “Thank you.”

Bucky’s breathing was evening out. “’Anythin’ for ya, punk.” He mumbled, drowsy.

Steve smiled, letting his own eyes fall closed. The warmth of Bucky’s body against his lulled him to sleep before his knot deflated, his mind blessedly blank.

The next morning, Steve awoke to a jab in his ribs.

“Ow, what the fuck Buck?” Steve groaned, rolling over, freeing the trapped body he’d been lying on.

“Dammit Steve, I’m so sorry.” Came Bucky’s choked reply. He scrambled off the bed, standing with his clothes haphazard. There were streaks of dried cum on his shirt, and his eyes were wide with fright.

“It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt. I was crushing you, wasn’t I?”

“No, not that. Last night. I shouldn’t have.” He looked so guilty, eyes downcast.

“What?” Steve sat up, blood running cold. “Did I-?”

“No, no. I think… I took advantage of you, Steve.” He whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey now, none of that.” Steve stood, stepping closer to were Bucky was frozen. “We didn’t do anything I didn’t want. Did you… not want that?”

“No! I wanted it. I wanted it Steve, so badly. That’s why I shouldn’t have.” He continued staring at the floor.

“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.” Steve tried to sound light-hearted. He put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, prompting Bucky to look up.

“Look, if you prefer, we could forget this ever happened.” Steve didn’t like it, but he needed to erase the scared look from his best friend’s face.

“I know it wasn’t exactly normal.” Bucky replied quickly. “Friends don’t usually help get each other off, do they? Didn’t you think it was weird for me to… to do that to you?”

“Honestly, Buck, I was pretty busy thinking about how out of this world it felt. I was pumped full of hormones, could barely even think straight.”

“Exactly! Steve, that’s even worse. It feels like I violated you. You weren’t even lucid, you were going into your first rut, and I used that moment for my own gain.”

“I think we both gained a lot, don’t you? It’s okay, Buck. I’m clear headed now and I promise you, we didn’t do anything I could ever regret. Actually, I do regret one thing.”

Bucky bit his lip, and Steve remembered sucking on it last night. He pushed the image away.

“I regret treating you so roughly. I expected our first time to be more loving, but I could barely control how much I wanted you.”

“You were rutting, of course you’d want it…” Bucky trailed off, realization dawning slowly. “Wait, did you just say you thought about? Like, us? Together?” He sounded like he can barely dare hope.

“Bucky. ‘Til the end of the line, right?” Steve’s words were heavy with feeling. He was trying to say so much with those familiar words.

“Steve…” Bucky’s eyes watered.

“I mean it.”

Bucky’s brow unfurled, worry washing away to leave his expression open and joyful. He smiled, stepping closer to Steve.

"It's always been you, for me." Bucky whispered.

They wrapped their arms around each other and stayed like that for a few minutes, feeling unimaginably blessed, just listening to the other breathe.

After what seemed a comfortable eternity, Bucky pulled back and looked up with a charming smile.

“I guess it’s official, isn’t it? You’re a big tough Alpha now! I always knew that little spitfire would grow up to be the strongest guy around.”

He wasn’t in a rut anymore, but another burst of desire snaked through him. Steve smiled slowly, cupping the back of Bucky’s head to pull him closer.

“This big Alpha’s all yours, Buck.” He whispered, and then they were kissing, all smooth sensuality. The frantic energy from last night had drained away, leaving them gratified and limber.

It was so much better to kiss without the rush of hormones making him feel like he’d die if they didn’t keep touching. It was real, and the weight of how things had changed didn’t hit either of them fully. Instead, they enjoyed each other’s company, peaceful and full of love.

Presentation can be a highly traumatic event, and Steve had been lucky to have Bucky on his side. Regardless of the more physical help he provided, his presence alone and his confident reassurances were a comfort. With his instincts awakened and new chemicals flowing through his bloodstream, Steve promised himself he’d never take his friend for granted. He’d never let Bucky down.

Except he had.

Steve had felt like his entire body was going to burst, but he knows that going into heat involves a lot more pain than going into rut does. Bucky had been alone and shamed; he must have cried, must have released a noxious cocktail of the scent of omega in distress, and yet been ignored. Abandoned.

Bucky hadn’t expected to present at all, Steve knows. Older than Steve by nearly a year, he thought it was too late for him. He’d accepted himself as a Beta, the designation most people tended to be. “Boring Beta Buck” he’d call himself, laughing. He got used to being overlooked in favor of “Big Alpha Steve”. But an Omega, a male at that? How cruelly the world must have reacted.

Steve hears the things people call male Omegas. Dead-ends, for their inability to get pregnant despite the fact that Omegas are best known for reproduction and nurturance. Omegas are highly sensitive and sensual beings, and it’s all the more intense every three months when they go into heat. Bucky’s heats would never be for breeding. He would always become horny for the sake of getting fucked, and too many people see male Omega as good for nothing more. ‘Slut’ and ‘whore’ are tame words compared to some of the creative insults he’s heard hurled against them. On the other hand, female Omegas, while discriminated against in their own way, were usually revered for their high fertility, treated like something precious and in need of protection, instead of just a hole to be used.

The moment Bucky presented, he became a walking target for hate. Steve had always worried he himself would present as Omega, due to his childhood weakness. He’d been so relieved the next day, when the realization that he was really, truly an Alpha had set in. The opposite must be true for Bucky, waking up and realizing nothing would ever be the same again.

When Steve first went into public as an Alpha, he was shocked at how differently the world treated him. It was like a switch had flicked, and he was no longer the boy he used to be. Adults started treating him like a man, listening to him when he spoke instead of dismissing him as they had in the past. They approached him with respect, like his opinion mattered. Steve wondered if there was anything that demanded this in his disposition, if he had changed in some subtle way to appear more assertive and confident, or if this behavior was brought about merely by virtue of his designation.

He had a new-found energy, a restless strength that demanded it be exercised. He took to lifting weights and running early in the morning to try and control the power he felt tingling beneath his skin, through his muscles and veins. His body was quick to adapt, filling out with thick muscle. He was already tall but grew even more so. Steve was somewhat perturbed by his large presence, and by how easily it intimidated those around him. Sometimes he couldn’t help the nagging feeling that he was taking up too much space, like everything around him was a size too small.

He had noticed when he’d outgrown Bucky, but now the difference shocks him. Even when he grew taller, Bucky had been somewhat thicker, but now Steve is both big and broad. His impressive physique dwarfs Bucky in comparison. When he first outgrew Bucky, he carried himself more delicately around his friend, until Bucky loudly told him off. He told Steve he might be big, but Bucky wasn’t weak.

Steve had taken his words to heart back then, but now, now Bucky stands small and vulnerable. He bows his head in shame and tries to avoid looking into anyone’s eyes, and it breaks Steve’s heart. It’s not that he’s weak, it’s not that Steve thinks Bucky will break, but when he has Bucky’s lithe frame tucked at his side, arm draped across his thin shoulders, he wants only to keep him there and protect him at all costs, like Bucky did for him all along.

Bucky, bound and gagged, was not protected. Alone, suffering for years. Steve had let his mate down. He had failed Bucky without even knowing it, but he should have seen this coming. Should have been more vigilant, taken more care. If only he’d come back sooner, pushed for more communication, _anything_.

If only Steve had done _something,_ Bucky wouldn’t be cowering next to him, more bandages visible than skin. He wouldn’t be so scared, so traumatized.

Steve quakes at the burning loathing, the pure guilt festering inside him. There are so many things he wishes he could change, but he has to stay focused. Bucky needed him then, but he still needs him now, more than ever before. Steve can’t give up just because he can’t change the past. What’s more important is making sure Bucky doesn’t wilt any further.

Bucky’s delicate petals had not drooped on their own. Pierce, the devil, had taken his hand and lead him to the pits of hell, into some kind of demonic orgy. He had used Bucky, made him know nothing but pain, made him somehow accept being treated like less than garbage. Steve knows his Bucky would not give up without a fight, which makes his current state all the more telling.

The guilt in his heart is overshadowed by a bubbling, boiling rage. The injustice of it is more than he can bear, but he has to stay in control. His blood is too hot, and all the muscles in his neck and jaw strain against his flesh. His hands grip the armrests so tightly they’re sure to tear.

As if sensing Steve’s anger, Bucky tenses in on himself. He curls into a tight ball, tugging the collar of his shirt up over his grimacing face. Steve barely hears the softest of whimpers, smells the first hints of distress, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He consciously relaxes his muscles and in turn feels his heart rate slow. He exudes all the protective warmth he can muster, and Bucky responds with a relieved sigh, going limp once more.

Even in his sleep, Bucky is alert to threats. Steve swallows the thought.

He never should have left.

“You should go, Stevie!” Bucky had encouraged him. “You can’t miss this opportunity!”

It was their final year of high school and all their peers were preoccupied with what their next step was. It had felt like their time there would never end, and already they were being whisked out into the world. For many, school was far from over. Exams were studied for months in advance to ensure placement in a college. Everyone was abuzz with the anxiety of achievement.

Steve knew no matter what happened, he wanted to build a future with Bucky. Moreover, Steve needed training to become the life partner he envisioned for Bucky. With this in mind, he had his sights set on a particular program at a prestigious university. Their friends had made fun of his diligence, paying attention in class and putting his all into homework and studies. Rumlow and his gang of misfits took to calling him a nerd, probably only because they couldn’t get away with calling him a fairy anymore. Even then, they scurried away whenever Steve glared in their direction, tails between their legs. They weren’t the threat they used to be to him, didn’t hold power over Steve anymore.

Only Bucky and Peggy had helped him. Peggy, well-mannered but sharply clever, had first informed him of the program’s existence. She knew he was passionate about art and design but knew that the financial strain of such a program may be too much for him and Bucky. Peggy herself was applying to another program at the same school, and though her family was well off, she still sought out scholarships to help with the oftentimes limiting cost of education. They had both filled out their applications together.

“I don’t know if I should go, Buck.”

“You worked hard for this. I saw you study your nights away, and I know you’ve wanted to go out and see more than this town. Besides, it says here they accepted you in your first choice, with _a full scholarship,_ Steve. You’d be stupid not to take it.”

“He’s right, I don’t understand why you’re questioning this now.” Peggy had chimed in. “You seemed quite determined when we were sending our applications.”

“True, but Pegs, I didn’t actually think I’d get in.”

Peggy had scoffed, but Bucky laughed, “You really are a dumb punk, aren’t you? Follow your dreams and believe in yourself. It’s about time for your confidence to catch up with your body.”

“Oh, I’m plenty confident.” Steve grinned back. “You’re both right. I do need to do this. Thanks for talking some sense into me.”

With that, it became official. The fact that Steve would soon leave with Peggy at his side hung ever-presently above their heads. Steve had wanted to arrange for Bucky to come with them, but it wasn’t a feasible option, at least not right away. Their time together became bittersweet, their smiles tainted with the looming departure. Bucky’s smiles didn’t reach his eyes anymore, but he was still the one comforting Steve as the day approached.

“You’ll do great, Stevie. Do your best and don’t you worry about me. We’ll keep in touch, and soon enough we’ll be together again.”

Steve stroked Bucky’s cheek. They were alone in their apartment, in the quiet hours of the morning when the noises of civilization seemed to mute and make way for the tender sound of crickets chirping.

“I know it’ll be hard for you.” Steve replied, somber. “I hate leaving you alone here. I wish you could come with me.”

“We can’t all get full ride scholarships, now can we?” Bucky teased. “I’ll be okay. I’ve got my family. It sure will be boring without you and Pegs around, but I’ll get used to it. I’ll keep myself busy.”

Bucky hadn’t even attempted to apply to the university Steve was going to. His grades weren’t exactly poor per say, and Bucky had always been a top student when he put his mind to it, but Steve knows he had put his studies on the backburner, instead taking on extra shifts to cover their expenses. He’d applied to the local community college, but when Steve asked about it, he’d only shook his head with a slight frown.

“I’ll apply again next year. For now, I can work and save up some cash. I could study and look into retaking the entrance exam next year. It’s okay, Steve. Don’t look at me like that.”

Even back then, Steve hadn’t wanted to leave Bucky. He knew he was strong, that he would be able to get by on his own. It’s just that Steve wanted to be there with him. In the long run, however, Steve does want to get his degree, see the world a bit. He wants to be able to provide the best life for Bucky, and higher education could only facilitate that.

Except it had torn him away from Bucky when his friend needed him most.

Their farewell at the airport had been painful, and the excited anxiety churning in Steve’s stomach hadn’t helped. The waiting room had been loudly packed, but Steve and Bucky stood in a bubble that shut the rest of the world, Peggy standing by a few steps away.

“I’m going to miss you, Buck.”

“I’ll be with you, here.” Bucky had pressed his hand up against Steve’s broad chest, over his pounding heart. “I’ll always be with you here. I’m with you until the end of the line.”

Steve’s eyes had watered, but he hadn’t let himself cry. It wasn’t a forever goodbye. They would stay in touch, Steve would come back to visit, hell, Bucky could even get some time off to come see him. The distance wouldn’t break them, not him and Bucky.

“No matter what life throws at us, no matter how we change or what obstacles we have to face, just know that I’ll stand by you. Nothing could push me away, Stevie. Not even this. So, go out, study your punk ass off, make new friends and have a blast. Do your homework and try not to get into too much trouble. I won’t be around to back you up.”

“Think I can handle myself now, Buck, but thanks for the sentiment.” Steve had grinned before smiling softly. “And you better know it’s the same for me. I’m with you, too. Even when I’m not, no matter what.”

Bucky’s smile then was imprinted in Steve’s memory, bright and bittersweet, eyes shining. Then, he was pulled into a tight hug. He curled his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling him close and holding on with all his strength, his head tucked on top of Bucky’s tousled dark hair.

“Steve, I do believe you’re crushing him.” Peggy’s prim, nonchalant voice cut through.

“Oh! Sorry!” Steve immediately let go and Bucky gasped for breath. Steve hovered over him with his hands in the air, looking worried and entirely unsure what to do with himself.

As soon as he stopped panting, Bucky burst into laughter. Steve joined in and they hugged again, patting each other’s shoulders.

“Have fun, Stevie.”

“Thanks Buck. We’ll be okay.”

“Yeah. Now go before you miss your flight!”

Peggy had given Bucky a quick hug, exchanging smiles and hushed whispers, and then in a flurry they were gone.

Steve had next found himself staring out above the clouds, Peggy sitting asleep next to him. He was heading to a new chapter of his life, and he was fucking terrified.

In a strangely exciting way.

Steve’s gut only churns with regret now.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

Bucky’s voice breaks through his reminiscing. They’re still on the train. Bucky’s awake, looking at him with concern.

“Sorry. Just… I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s frown deepens. He shakes his head, confused. Steve takes his hand.

“I never should have left you alone.”

Bucky’s head shakes more pronouncedly.

“You’re here.” He whispers, gripping Steve’s hand tighter in his own.

“Final station! We’re here!” The conductor announces, and the train is screeching to a halt.

They keep their hands clasped as they exit, unwilling to let the other out of reach.

Bucky follows Steve’s lead with his head down, hair masking his face. They make it out of the terminal without incident, but when they reach the road Steve pauses. Bucky freezes immediately behind him.

“Shit.” Steve swears. “Sam.”

Bucky doesn’t vocalize his response, but looks at Steve with a questioning gaze, lips pursing out imperceptibly. The familiar pout makes Steve want to kiss him and cry at the same time.

“I didn’t call him. He’s not expecting me back yet, and he’s certainly not expecting you.”

Bucky cracks a smile, but it’s a sad thing, more of a wince than anything.

Steve pulls out his phone.

“I should have done this on the train. What was I thinking?” He mutters, annoyed with himself. He wants to get Bucky safe inside his room, needs to tend to his wounds properly and help him heal. He doesn’t want to be floundering here on the street, watching Bucky’s nervous gaze flitting around this unfamiliar place.

Sam answers on the third ring, and Steve is sweating bullets.

“Cap? You get in trouble out there in the ol’ hometown, or you just calling ‘cause you miss me?” Sam is deadpan cheerful as always, and Steve can see his smile through the phone.

“Both. I’m actually in DC right now. At the train station.”

“Okay, wow Steve, I knew it was hard for you to stay away from me. I don’t blame you, but I kind of expected you to make it longer than what, not even two days? C’mon man, I just got the place to myself, I was planning a big party tonight.” He jokes, but Steve bites his lip hard.

“We can stay at a hotel tonight, it’s no trouble.”

“I’m joking man, come on home. Wait, we? Who are you with?”

“That’s the thing I need to talk to you about before coming back.” Steve exhales slowly. “I have Bucky here with me.”

Sam is quiet on the other end. Steve doesn’t even hear him breathing.

“Did I hear that wrong, or did you just tell me you’re with James Barnes, the shmuck who broke your heart and left you hanging for _years_? I saw you writing all those letters and never getting any back, Cap. I saw how it ate away at you. I hope he _begged_ you for forgiveness.”

A hopeless anger flares up, but Steve squashes it. Sam doesn’t know.

“It’s not what you think. He’s hurt real bad, Sam. I need to stay with him, and he needs serious help. Please, can I bring him over? Can he stay with us?”

Sam inhales deeply, breathing it out slowly. When he responds, his voice is calm. “Hell, bring him over. We’ll see about all that later. I hope you know what you’re doing, Steve.”

“Thank you, Sam. I appreciate it. We’ll be there soon.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

The line goes dead, and Steve sighs, shoving his phone in his pocket. He turns to Bucky, who hasn’t moved an inch. His entire posture shies from attention, stiff and small, not quite hunched over yet giving the impression of curling into himself, as if wishing to disappear. His eyes are still downcast, but the grim set of his mouth tells Steve he’s heard their entire conversation.

Steve runs the back of his knuckles lightly against Bucky's unbruised cheek, unsure if he's trying to comfort the shaking Omega or himself. Both of their breaths shudder.

“Let’s go home, Buck.”


End file.
